Innocence
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: Part 1 of the Reborn trilogy. After the Battle of Yavin, Vader crashlands near the Rebel base and is discovered badly injured and with amnesia.
1. Default Chapter

Reborn  
  
Part I -- Innocence  
  
Kenya Starflight  
  
Rated PG for violence  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Pain.  
  
That was all Vader knew from the moment the Death Star exploded. First the screams in the Force as thousands of lives were brutally snuffed in an instant. Nausea overtook him, and he retched involuntarily. Any Force-sensitive, even a dark sider, couldn't be near such a large-scale mass murder without becoming physically ill.  
  
Then his TIE was buffeted on all sides by twisted shards of broken metal, globules of radioactive fuel, and other shrapnel. The tiny craft was tossed and batted around like a hapless rodent in the paws of a sand panther cub. He wrestled violently with the controls, but he couldn't regain control of the ship.  
  
Amid the chaos, his thoughts kept straying back to that X-wing pilot. Stang, he practically glowed with the Force! And he had been so distracted by that Force-strong presence that he had missed the freighter's ambush entirely. The pilots of both crafts would pay dearly, once he got his hands on them.  
  
He pushed those thoughts aside. For now, survival was all that mattered.  
  
A ragged slab of plating hurtled just past the viewscreen, shearing off one of his fighter's wings. Alarms sounded in the cockpit as another twisted fragment of the space station slammed into the craft, sending it spinning into Yavin IV's atmosphere.  
  
There was only one option left, and Vader took it. He released the fighter's controls and went into a meditative trance, gathering his fury and indignation to fuel the dark side of the Force. With the aid of the dark power he managed to slow his descent toward the moon's surface. It would mean being stranded in Rebel territory, but it would also mean survival.  
  
The control panel abruptly burst into flames. Sparks showered his legs and torso. His concentration broke at the critical moment.  
  
A squeal of rending metal, searing agony as shards of metal and transparisteel pierced his armor, his head rushing toward the console...  
  
And he knew no more.  
  
***  
  
Five kilometers away, a certain Rebel pilot was also in pain.  
  
"Yeow!"  
  
"Oh, stop squirming!" Alliance Doctor Forenze snapped as she continued working. "Honestly, you'd think he was the only person in the galaxy to be bitten by a glider lizard!"  
  
"Well, you don't have to be so rough about it -- ow!"  
  
The birdlike Fosh doctor simply shook her head and grumbled as she kept working, pulling tiny teeth out of Luke's left arm. The trademarks of the meter-long glider lizards were the webs of skin between their forelegs and back legs, which they used to glide through the jungle canopies, and their jaws containing thousands of teeth -- as well as a tendency to leave a dozen or more of them behind whenever they bit an attacker.  
  
"Forenze isn't trying to hurt you, Luke," Leia told him from her seat nearby.  
  
"I know, but -- ow!"  
  
"Done at last," she huffed, slapping a syntheflesh bandage around the afflicted arm. "Now I can see to Captain Seul's brat for his vaccination update, and he'll be a pleasure after tending to Luke Skywhiner!" She stomped away.  
  
Leia shook her head. "She's the best non-mechanical medic in the Rebellion. That makes putting up with her temper necessary."  
  
"I almost prefer the droids," Luke muttered, rubbing his arm.  
  
"What were you doing to get bitten, anyway?"  
  
"Taking a walk. Why?"  
  
She frowned. "Next time take someone with you. We can't afford to lose our best pilot, not after we've lost so many men already."  
  
Luke sighed. He liked the princess a lot, but she couldn't understand how uncomfortable he was with his new-found celebrity. She had been a high-ranking leader all her life and so was used to attention. But he had gone from Tatooine farmboy to Alliance hero almost overnight, and he was having trouble adjusting to that. Especially when he had so much else to deal with -- namely, losing his aunt, uncle, teacher, best friend, and former life in less than twenty-four hours.  
  
That was why, while the rest of the Alliance was celebrating yesterday's triumph over the Death Star, he'd spent most of today hiking in the jungle. He needed time alone to think.  
  
"I'll see you at dinner, Leia," he told her, standing to leave.  
  
"Where are you off to?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"At least go with someone."  
  
"All right," he conceded. "Come on, Artoo."  
  
The cheeky astromech, who had been waiting just outside the med center ("I won't have greasy machines mucking around in here!" Forenze had griped), whistled happily and set off after him.  
  
"Not who I had in mind, but that works," Leia said amusedly. "And you can always talk to me if you need someone to listen, Luke."  
  
He smiled. "I'll take you up on that sometime. But not right now."  
  
"Stay out of trouble," she encouraged.  
  
Together the odd duo of droid and man left the ancient stone temple that housed the Rebel base and walked down a scout path into Yavin IV's jungle.  
  
Yavin's heat was nothing like Tatooine's. On Tatooine you could taste the heat, dry and dusty like a mouthful of sand. But on Yavin, you felt the heat, smothering you like a hot damp blanket. Luke had worked up a sweat in no time, even though he was only strolling and wore shorts and a sleeveless tunic.  
  
Artoo chirped as a fearless bird alighted on his dome. Luke smiled despite himself. If his uncle hadn't purchased the strong-willed astromech and his prissy, paranoid counterpart Threepio, he would probably still be cleaning vaporators back at the farm. Or, he realized, dead at the hands of the stormtroopers who had raided the homestead and slaughtered his caretakers.  
  
But their deaths had affected him in many ways, not all negative. For while he mourned their demise, it had given him new resolve, a reason to fight the tyranny of the Galactic Empire. Before he had been somewhat ambivalent toward the regime; now he had aligned himself firmly against it.  
  
Artoo halted, wailing electronically to get his attention.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
The droid rocked back and forth anxiously, continuing to babble. Luke wished he could understand Binary.  
  
"Is something ahead?" he asked finally. Artoo's sensors must have picked up on something.  
  
Artoo beeped what sounded like an affirmative answer.  
  
"Can you tell what it is?"  
  
He moved his dome from side to side to indicate no.  
  
Luke drew his blaster. Many large predators lived in Yavin's understory. He had yet to encounter one, but there was always a first time for everything. He carefully pushed aside a curtain of hanging moss and peered into the forest.  
  
A huge dark form crouched in the trees. Luke almost squeezed off a nervous round before he recognized it.  
  
"Ah, it's just a shipwreck," he told Artoo. "One of the TIEs from the battle yesterday..."  
  
Artoo continued to ramble insistently.  
  
"What's the problem..." he began. "Oh stang."  
  
It was the crook-winged TIE fighter that had drawn a bead on him... and killed Biggs. His last glimpse of it had been as they fled the exploding Death Star. It had been tumbling toward Yavin's atmosphere, out of control. The Alliance had worried that the pilot of that ship would make his way to Imperial space and alert the Empire of the base's location. Well, one less thing to worry about, he figured.  
  
"We'll report it to Mothma," Luke assured the droid.  
  
He wouldn't be quiet. Something else must be wrong, he decided. He looked back at the battered freighter. It was lodged in the trees a few meters above the ground, missing one wing and several pieces of plating. Had the wreck been booby-trapped at all?  
  
Something stirred behind the cracked transparisteel.  
  
The pilot had survived! Luke ran toward the craft. No being could endure that crash without sustaining serious injury. And if this ship had truly crashed yesterday, that twenty-four hours could have compounded the injuries. Forget that this was an Imperial -- he had to do something to help the man.  
  
"Hold on in there!" he shouted, bending down to grab a thick branch.  
  
A deep moan issued from the darkness of the fighter's interior.  
  
Luke climbed up a nearby tree until he was level with the TIE's viewscreen, then clubbed the transparisteel. After several blows, the framing gave way, allowing him to climb inside.  
  
At first, he could see nothing. A few lights blinked in the gloom, but he wasn't sure if they came from the pilot's flight suit or were part of the TIE's hardware. He felt around for a glowrod or other emergency light source. He knew Rebel pilots carried them in case of a forced landing, but he wasn't sure if Imperials did...  
  
Artoo whistled from the ground.  
  
"Not much you can do," Luke called down. His hand brushed the familiar shape of a glowrod in a knocked-open compartment, and he flicked it on.  
  
And proceeded to scream.  
  
Darth Vader had been piloting the TIE.  
  
/Vader betrayed and murdered your father./ Obi-wan had said that not long ago. Luke clenched his jaw in mounting hatred. Vader had murdered his father, his Jedi Master, and his truest friend. This beast who had once been a man was responsible for thousands of deaths and so many atrocities. And he had tortured Leia and forced her to watch as her homeworld was destroyed.  
  
But now he hung limply in the pilot's seat, held upright only by his flight harness. He was barely conscious -- indeed, barely alive. And he was helpless.  
  
Luke tightened his grip on his blaster. He could do it now. He could kill Vader. He could ensure that the Emperor's right-hand man shed no more innocent blood. His father's death and the deaths of so many others would be avenged.  
  
Almost without realizing what he was doing, he raised his weapon arm, planting the muzzle of the blaster against the cracked helmet, squarely between Vader's eyes.  
  
/Is this necessary?/ a small voice asked.  
  
/He's a murderer!/ Luke railed. /He killed my father!/  
  
/And what will it make you if you shoot a wounded, defenseless man, whether or not he is a murderer?/  
  
He paused, pulling the blaster away. "Ben?"  
  
/I know he has hurt you, Luke/ came Ben Kenobi's calming voice. /But a Jedi feels no anger, no desire for vengeance. He does, however, feel compassion -- even to those seemingly undeserving of it./  
  
He reluctantly holstered his blaster. Ben was right. If he killed Vader, he'd be no better than him. And he refused to sink to that level.  
  
The Sith moaned in pain. He tried to lift his head.  
  
"Hold still," Luke urged him. "I'll have you out of there in a second." He searched his belt for his vibroblade.  
  
"Who... are you?" The bass voice he had heard in so many holobroadcasts was no longer powerful and menacing. It was hesitant, weak, and even those three words left him gasping for breath.  
  
"Luke Skywalker," he replied reflexively. "And don't try to talk." He gave up looking for the blade. He must have left it back at the base.  
  
"Skywalker," Vader said softly. "I know... that name..."  
  
"Don't talk," Luke repeated, grabbing a shard of transparisteel. He slashed through the harness straps, and Vader slumped forward. Luke struggled to haul him out of the wreck, but he lost his balance and fell to the forest floor, the Dark Lord's body landing heavily on top of him.  
  
"Ugh," he groaned, wriggling from underneath Vader. "That was bright."  
  
Artoo bleeped worriedly.  
  
"I'm fine, Artoo," Luke replied, rolling Vader onto his back. "But he's not." Indeed, his leather armor was in shreds, and the rents exposed cadaverously pale skin and a multitude of gashes, though they appeared to have stopped bleeding. Luke wasn't sure, but he thought there might be a lot of internal injuries as well. It would take an experienced doctor to be sure.  
  
"Skywalker to Massassi Base," he said into his comm. "You're not going to believe this."  
  
"Try me," the communications officer on the other end replied.  
  
"I found a crashed TIE just south of the base. The pilot is alive but critically injured."  
  
"We'll send a med squad out to bring him in..."  
  
"Hear me out. The pilot is Darth Vader."  
  
Silence. Then a stern "That's not funny, Skywalker."  
  
"I'm telling the truth! Listen!" He held the comm unit next to Vader's mask so the officer could hear the mechanical breathing.  
  
"By the galaxy!" the officer exclaimed. "How did he... isn't a Sith supposed to..."  
  
"You believe me now?"  
  
"Yes, I believe you! Med squad's on the way, and we'll inform Dodonna of this at once! Stay where you are!"  
  
He turned off the comm. It was a pretty unbelievable situation. Everyone viewed the Sith Lord as, if not invincible, very close to it. How could a crash landing leave him in this shape?  
  
Artoo chirped.  
  
"If you're saying coming out here was a bad idea, I'm starting to agree with you," Luke replied.  
  
Ten minutes later, six Rebel soldiers arrived with a medkit, a stretcher, and weapons at the ready. Princess Leia and General Dodonna followed. Leia looked genuinely frightened, but Dodonna wore a skeptical expression.  
  
"All right, Skywalker," Dodonna barked, "let's have a look at this TIE pilot you captured. And explain what possessed you to pull such a sick prank. The entire base is in hysterics over the rumors that you just captured Darth Vader."  
  
"General Dodonna, Skywalker is not a prankster," Leia shot back. "He's much more mature than you give him credit for."  
  
"Where is he?" one of the soldiers asked eagerly.  
  
Luke gestured to where the Dark Lord lay.  
  
"Oh stars!" he exclaimed. "You were right!"  
  
Dodonna paled behind his beard. "I apologize, Skywalker. It just seemed so... incredible."  
  
"I know," Luke replied. "I couldn't believe it myself."  
  
"Let's put 'im out of his misery," growled one soldier, a Zabrak.  
  
"That's too good for him," said another, this one human. "Leave him here to rot."  
  
"No," Dodonna ordered. "We take him back to base. He is our prisoner. And we will question him as we would any other prisoner."  
  
"General?" said Leia, straining to keep a calm demeanor. "This is an extremely dangerous man we're talking about here. He has control over strange powers and no qualms about using them to murder or torture..."  
  
"I highly doubt that even a Sith can use the Force at full capacity after being involved in a nearly fatal crash," Dodonna replied. "Soldiers, take him to the med center immediately. Princess Leia, inform everyone of the details and try to restore some semblance of order. Luke, you will accompany me."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Because we need a first-hand witness to explain the situation to the Alliance High Command."  
  
Luke groaned nervously. He'd rather have a tooth pulled without anesthetic than go before the High Command.  
  
"Dr. Forenze is going to go into conniptions when she sees who her next patient is," a soldier noted as they hoisted Vader onto the stretcher. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Dr. Forenze did get angry, though not for the reason Luke was thinking. She took one glance at the comatose cyborg being lugged into the med center and flew into a spitting rage.  
  
"Great gods of all the worlds! Don't you idiots know anything? You never move an accident victim without setting broken bones first!"  
  
"Calm down, Dr. Forenze," Dodonna ordered as the soldiers transferred him to a medical bed. "There are no bones broken that we can see. Some damage to his cybernetic components..."  
  
"Cybernetic components," grumbled the Fosh, taking the Sith's right arm to check for a pulse and discovering it was a prosthetic. "What am I, a friggin' mechanic? Get an astromech to take care of him."  
  
"Doctor..." Dodonna said sternly. He was the only one in the base with any control over the doctor's temper.  
  
"All right, all right," she snapped, and set to work hooking Vader up to various monitors. "Things I do for you, General."  
  
Dodonna nodded at Luke. "We'd best get to Mothma, Skywalker. She'll need to hear your report."  
  
"Can I... uh... stay just one minute?" Luke asked.  
  
The grizzled general nodded once. "One minute. Meet me in the council room." He departed.  
  
"Everyone out!" Dr. Forenze shrieked as Rebel soldiers crowded in for a good look. "This is a hospital, not a zoo!"  
  
"Stang, he seemed so much bigger on the holobroadcasts," the Zabrak muttered as he and his comrades slunk out.  
  
"Wait'll the boys down in Hangar Four hear about this," his compatriot replied eagerly.  
  
Luke remained behind.  
  
"That goes for you too," Forenze told him.  
  
"I want to get a good look at him," Luke replied.  
  
She glanced up from her work. "You rescued the man. You got a look at him already."  
  
"Man?" Luke repeated, arcing an eyebrow. "You call him a man?"  
  
She smirked. "Then again, we never know, do we? Could be a woman with a voice synthesizer under this armor..."  
  
"That's not what I meant." He looked away. "He's a monster. A murderer."  
  
She didn't reply, only set back to her work, grumbling to herself.  
  
Now that he had an opportunity to look at the Dark Lord up close, in some decent lighting, he realized his injuries weren't quite as severe as he first thought. It was hard to tell through the armor, of course, but he had a feeling Vader wouldn't be out of action long. A sickening fear balled up in his gut. Had he brought danger upon the Alliance by dragging him into the Massassi base?  
  
But what else could he have done? Left him to die? Imperials did that all the time once they were done attacking a target. That wasn't the way of the Alliance, however. They stopped to retrieve all the wounded after a battle, even those of the enemy. He suddenly realized that, had the Empire happened upon Vader's crash site before Luke, they quite probably would have abandoned the Dark Lord. The Emperor showed no compassion toward his troops, even those of high rank.  
  
/Even his own right-hand man./  
  
/Ben? Why do I still hear you?/  
  
/There is no death, Luke. Only the Force. And don't fret over this. You did as you should. You acted like a Jedi./  
  
/Thanks, Ben./  
  
"Are you going to stand there all day?" demanded Forenze.  
  
"Sorry. Just having second thoughts about rescuing him."  
  
She shrugged. "You did what someone decent would do. Playing nurse to an Imp isn't on my list of favorite things to do either, but I'm a doctor. I'm sworn to do all in my power to aid anyone, Imp or Reb. And don't think I'm going to let any patient of mine go homicidal."  
  
"I believe that," Luke muttered.  
  
"I heard that! Now off with you!"  
  
"Yes, oh mighty Dictator of the Meds."  
  
She threw a roll of bandages at him to shoo him on his way.  
  
***  
  
Mothma pressed her fingers to her temples to ease an oncoming headache. Heading an organized Rebellion against the Empire was a monumental task, and of late things were getting far more complicated. An incoming supply freighter had miscalculated their hyperspace trajectory and crashed into another set of ruins nearby, destroying half their cargo and putting four men in the bacta tanks. New recruits were flooding into the base following the destruction of the Death Star, and they were hard-pressed to provide for and register everyone. Several drunken technicians had gone into the forest to celebrate and hadn't been seen in hours, though search parties had managed to find their comlinks.  
  
And to top all the madness off, their most promising pilot had just captured the Alliance's most dangerous enemy. Never mind that Vader was badly injured and still unconscious -- she still felt as if they were housing a crazed rancor.  
  
Skywalker, who had just completed his report, sat at the conference table before the Alliance High Command -- Mon Mothma, head of the Rebellion; Admiral Ackbar, commander of the Fleet; General Madine, commander of personnel; General Dodonna, commander of Massassi Base; and Borsk Fey'la, head of the Bothan Spynet. Luke seemed rather uncomfortable with the entire ordeal, and Mothma didn't blame him.  
  
"Now the question remains," she said at last. "What is to be done with Lord Darth Vader?"  
  
"I believe he should be put on trial," Ackbar suggested. "We've done that before with high-ranking prisoners. And goodness knows we have enough evidence to convict him."  
  
Fey'la snorted. "Why not forego the trial and execute him outright? The entire galaxy knows he's guilty of a list of crimes as long as my arm. Any trial would be a simple ceremony before we pull the trigger."  
  
"No, Fey'la," Mothma told him. "The Alliance does not sink to the Empire's level. No executions are dealt without a proper trial."  
  
"In my opinion," Dodonna put in, "Vader's worth more to us alive."  
  
Madine looked at him as if he were insane.  
  
"Think about it," Dodonna pressed. "Who knows more about the dealings of the Empire than anyone else, the Emperor aside? Vader. He knows if the Empire had a backup plan in case the Death Star failed, he knows the locations of Imperial military outposts and command ships, and he knows what possible weaknesses exist in the Empire's armies and fleets. He's a wealth of valuable information if we can only get him to talk."  
  
"IF we can get him to talk," Madine reminded him. "Which I highly doubt he will without heavy persuasion."  
  
"Not the type of persuasion you're referring to, General," Ackbar said sternly. "We refuse to use torture or commit executions without trial."  
  
Mothma glanced at Luke and suppressed the urge to laugh. He was half asleep.  
  
"Also, how do you propose to keep him under control?" asked Fey'la. "If the stories regarding the Sith are true, he can use the Force to kill with a gesture, shoot lightning from his hands, activate locking mechanisms from a distance, and manipulate minds, among other things. Ordinary restraints won't contain him."  
  
"According to Skywalker, he was badly injured in the crash of his fighter," Dodonna replied. "I'm not sure if that will affect his ability to use the Force, but it does give us an excuse to keep him sedated."  
  
"Back in the days of the Republic," Ackbar suggested, "there used to be artifacts that could restrict a Jedi's ability to use the Force. The Jedi Council used them to subdue a Jedi who had become rebellious or suffered a psychotic episode. If we can locate one..."  
  
"Good luck there," Madine interrupted. "The Empire destroyed all the Jedi artifacts along with the Temple and the Order."  
  
/Do these men ever quit arguing?/ wondered Mothma as Luke's head fell to the table.  
  
Aloud she said, "A few of those artifacts may still exist, General Madine. And we will tell our supply runners to keep an eye out for them. But for now, sedation will be used to keep him under control."  
  
"Then Vader stays?" asked Fey'la.  
  
"Yes, Fey'la, he stays," Mothma replied. "The information he has is that important."  
  
"Another matter we must discuss, Skywalker," said Ackbar. "Skywalker?"  
  
Luke was unresponsive. Apparently they'd found the most effective sedation method -- fifteen minutes in a High Command meeting.  
  
"Skywalker!" barked Dodonna.  
  
"Huh? Uh -- sorry."  
  
"We lost most of our pilots during the Death Star offensive," Ackbar went on. "This shows our desperate need for a more highly trained fighter squadron, which we will be organizing shortly. We would like you to serve as Second Commander."  
  
Luke gaped. "You mean it?"  
  
"We do," Mothma replied with a smile at the boy's genuine excitement. It was refreshing to see someone so eager, someone not yet jaded into cynicism by the Galactic Civil War, someone still brimming with hopes and dreams.  
  
"Thank you!" Luke grinned. "I mean... it's a pleasure... just curious, who's First Commander? Wedge?"  
  
"Antilles declined the offer," Mothma replied. "Your First Commander will be Commander Ghede Ironmoon."  
  
The smile vanished. "You're kidding."  
  
"No, Skywalker, we are not," Ackbar replied firmly. "And you will show proper respect toward your superior. Am I clear?"  
  
Luke mumbled assent. Mothma didn't blame him for his sour attitude toward Commander Ironmoon. She didn't particularly like the man herself. In fact, few soldiers had a favorable opinion of the brooding, iron-fisted Chiss. But he was an experienced pilot and had an impressive record. Luke was popular among the soldiers and talented beyond his years, but he hadn't Ghede's experience.  
  
Besides, Ghede wouldn't serve as Starfighter Commander long. He was working his way up the ranks fast, and some predicted that he would soon replace Ackbar as commander of the Fleet. Mothma rued the day.  
  
"This concludes our meeting," Mothma announced. "Meeting adjourned."  
  
Two scouts, a male Mon Calamari and a female human, tried to enter the room at the same time and ended up getting stuck in the doorway. Luke stood and helped them extract themselves.  
  
"You have something to report?" asked Dodonna.  
  
"We found our missing technicians," the Mon Calamari replied, trying hard not to smile but failing. "They had been chased up a tree by a pack of some sort of carnivorous rodents."  
  
"No injuries among them, but the experience sobered them up fast," the woman added.  
  
"Thank you," Dodonna told them. "Skywalker? You're dismissed."  
  
***  
  
He was aware first of the pain in his head, a dull ache that gnawed at his temples and forehead. As he roused more fully, he noticed pain in other areas as well -- his ribs, his chest, and his left shoulder. His right arm felt fine, but for some reason he couldn't move the fingers on that hand. Nor was their any sensation in his legs, though he was able to move them a bit.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a cracked stone ceiling. He rolled his head to one side to see a medical cot beside him, empty. Another sat on his other side. He was in some sort of hospital.  
  
For a long time he simply lay there, taking in his surroundings. The blips and whirrs of medical machinery filtered through an odd, rhythmic hissing sound that dominated his hearing. It took him a few minutes to realize it was his breathing, for he was wearing some sort of mask containing a respiration unit. An IV drip had been placed in his left arm, which was bare to the elbow, the exposed skin an unnaturally light shade.  
  
/Odd/ he thought. /I don't remember any accident or illness./  
  
He couldn't help feeling a vague sense of wrongness, as if he wasn't supposed to be here. But he could see no reason for that. He decided it was simply the shock of being someplace unfamiliar.  
  
At last he tried to sit up but was brought up short. Metallic bands across his chest, waist, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles secured him firmly to the spot. Alarmed, he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. What was going on? Was he a prisoner? Of whom?  
  
"Look who's up bright and early this morning!" someone exclaimed, voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
An alien strode briskly up to him. Apparently female, she wore a white medic's coat over a black shirt and dark brown pants with gold piping. Her four-fingered hands were a deep blue and somewhat resembled claws. Her neck and oddly bird-like face were snowy white, her eyes a burnt orange color, and a brilliant crest of blue and fuschia feathers extended over half a meter from the back of her head.  
  
"About time you came back from the dead," she grumbled, checking his IV. "You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."  
  
"What the stang hit me?" he asked.  
  
"You did." She pulled a lightpen out of her pocket and began making notes on a datapad. "On your fighter's console. You're lucky to be alive, sir. As it was, you were in sorry shape when Skywalker hauled you out of your wrecked TIE. But seeing as you made it through the night, I expect you'll be okay."  
  
Skywalker... again that name. Why did he have the feeling that he should know this Skywalker very well? He'd never seen the young man before his rescue... had he?  
  
"How badly am I hurt?" he asked.  
  
"Broken ribs, skull fracture, bruised heart and lungs, dislocated shoulder, internal bleeding resulting from a ruptured spleen, various lacerations and external bruises, and damages to assorted cybernetic components," she rattled off as if reciting a menu. "And that's just the recent injuries. Stars, who was your doctor? You should have fired him long ago, seeing as he obviously hasn't upgraded your life-support systems since the Clone Wars! You have the most antiquated systems I've ever come across!"  
  
"Life support?"  
  
"That's what I said." She took his left hand. "Let's re-check that pulse. I don't like the fact that it's a bit irregular. Pacemaker must be an old model too."  
  
While she was occupied with his left arm, he examined his right. It was still covered by a black gauntlet and leather sleeve. He attempted to flex his fingers, but the hand only responded with a twitch and a strange grinding sound.  
  
"Ma'am..."  
  
"Dr. Forenze is the name."  
  
"Dr. Forenze, my other arm..."  
  
"Will be seen to by a medical droid," she replied shortly. "I don't deal with cybernetic prosthetics."  
  
So he had a mechanical arm. That explained the lack of feeling. His legs must be false too, he decided.  
  
"All right, I'm going to have to ask you all the usual nosy questions, since we don't have your medical records handy." She picked up the datapad. "Any heart disease in your family?"  
  
His family? He strained to remember. Faces flickered briefly to life -- an older woman, a round-faced teenager, a stunningly beautiful lady -- but he couldn't put names to any of them. "I don't know."  
  
"What do you mean 'I don't know?'" she demanded, glaring at him over the datapad.  
  
"I - don't - know," he repeated firmly, getting a bit frustrated.  
  
Her eyes went wide with nervousness, and she returned her gaze to the datapad, subdued. "Unknown then. Any history of cancer?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Arthritis, diabetes, stroke, glaucoma, food or drug allergies?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
She looked up again. "Don't be difficult, Lord Vader..."  
  
"Lord who?"  
  
"Lord..." Her voice trailed off as her dark orange eyes went wide. "Oh, fwup."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
She set the datapad down and knelt beside the bed, bringing herself to his eye level. Her expression was no longer brusquely casual, but genuinely concerned.  
  
"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked softly.  
  
"Pain," he replied. "A great deal of it. A young man -- he called himself Luke Skywalker -- cut me out of the pilot seat of some sort of starcraft. Then I blacked out."  
  
She frowned. "Before that."  
  
He closed his eyes and sought out a memory, any memory. All he encountered were fragments -- faces without names, images without explanations, a wide spectrum of emotions from passion to terror to fury. It was as if his life had been a glass painting -- and was now shattered.  
  
/Nothing. There is nothing. I can't even recall my own name! My past is gone. I am no one./ A crushing depression settled in at that moment. How could he go on with no purpose, no identity, nothing to build upon?  
  
"Before that, there is nothing," he told her gloomily.  
  
She nodded, face grim. "I was afraid of that. I'll add it to your record -- trauma-induced total amnesia."  
  
He stared at the ceiling. "What is to become of me?"  
  
She sighed as she jotted something down. "That's not for me to decide. That's up to the Alliance High Command."  
  
"Alliance?"  
  
"You're in the Massassi Base of the Rebel Alliance, an organization that is seeking to overthrow the corrupt Galactic Empire. That ring any bells?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh well." She tucked the pad under her arm. "I have to report this to High Command. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you?"  
  
"My head is killing me."  
  
"I'll give you a painkiller and a sedative before I go. You can sleep the shock of this off. If you need me, tell the droids. They'll know where to find me."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Forenze. I'm grateful to you."  
  
She gave an unexpected smile. "And here they were telling me horror stories about you. But I'll be blasted if you aren't the politest gentleman I've ever met, Vader."  
  
"Vader?"  
  
"Yes. That's your name. Darth Vader."  
  
"Darth Vader," he repeated. That name seemed so harsh in his mouth. But for now, it was the only piece of his past he had.  
  
He didn't resist the injections she administered, nor did he resist the relief of sleep that came over him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
"Amnesia?" Leia repeated, brow furrowed. "How can you be sure he's not faking it?"  
  
"I took the liberty of doing a cranial scan after the sedatives knocked him out," Forenze replied. She gestured to the holo of the scan before them. "The blow to his head would have killed him had he not be wearing a helmet. As it was, it caused severe damage to the memory center of his brain -- right here." She pointed to the corresponding area. "Knocks to the head cause hemorrhaging, which kills off parts of the brain tissue. Other parts of the brain can partially compensate for what has been lost, but it's impossible to regenerate new neural cells."  
  
"So you're saying there's no possibility of him regaining his memory," said Mothma, her expression serene as ever.  
  
"Anything's possible, my lady," Forenze answered. "A technician can retrieve data from a damaged computer if he knows how. Given time, his brain may eventually recover some of his memory. But the possibility of him regaining all of it in the near future is rather slim."  
  
"And his condition now?" asked Leia.  
  
"Up and walking. He's very curious about his past and even borrowed a computer to look some information up."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Forenze," Mothma said in conclusion. "You're dismissed."  
  
The Fosh pulled the disk out of the holoprojector and walked back into the med center, the door hissing shut behind her.  
  
As soon as she was gone, Leia turned to face Mothma. "Now what are we going to do with him? He's useless as an informant."  
  
She remained expressionless. "I'm not sure."  
  
"We could hold him for ransom," Han suggested. "The Emperor might pay pretty well to get his stooge back."  
  
"Aside from the fact that the Alliance does not stoop to hostage-taking for profit," Mothma said sternly, glaring at the Corellian, "I highly doubt the Empire wants him now that he doesn't even know the Empire exists."  
  
"Well, we don't want him either," Han retorted.  
  
"There's one option left," Leia said. "Put him on trial."  
  
Mothma shook her head. "I don't believe we even have that option."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"His memory is gone. He has no recollection of his crimes. In his mind, he is innocent. Is it truly fair to charge him with crimes he doesn't even know happened?"  
  
"That doesn't change the fact that he committed them," Leia retorted.  
  
"If we don't try him, what are we going to do with him?" added Han. "He can't stay in the base forever."  
  
Mothma began to look thoughtful.  
  
"Oh no," Leia breathed, shaking her head. "We can't possibly..."  
  
"Consider a moment," Mothma encouraged. "Vader is among us. He has no memory. He doesn't remember that he served the Empire for so many years. He doesn't remember why he fought against the Alliance. It's as if he's been reborn, given a fresh start. We can take advantage of this to bring him to our side."  
  
Han stared at her incredulously. "You want to RECRUIT him?!"  
  
"Why not?" she replied. "We've let other Imperials join. Why not Vader?"  
  
"What if he regains his memory?" demanded Leia. "Do we really want to risk him remembering who he is in the middle of a delicate mission and betraying or killing us all?"  
  
"That can be averted," Mothma replied. "We build our case carefully, presenting him with the truth of the Empire's dealings. I'm sure there is much more going on in the Empire than even Vader knows -- or knew. If he does recover from his amnesia, we may have disillusioned him to the point that he will choose to remain a Rebel."  
  
"I can't believe you're doing this!" Leia exclaimed in disbelief. "We can't recruit a mass murderer! Do you know how many people in this base have been hurt by that... monster?!"  
  
"Princess," Mothma said gently, "I know you suffered much at his hand. But can you not accept that we are no longer dealing with the Emperor's right-hand man, but with a total stranger?"  
  
She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she turned and stormed away.  
  
Reaching the refuge of her private quarters, she knelt beside the bed and broke down into tears for the first time in days. Stars, she had tried to remain strong through it all -- her capture by the troops of the Devastator, her torture at the hands of Vader, the sanity-ripping mind probes, the destruction of her beloved homeworld, her chaotic rescue, the Battle of Yavin, the revelation that Vader had been captured. But to know that he was to be accepted into the Rebellion's ranks without so much as a trial... she couldn't hold back any longer.  
  
She hated him. By the galaxy, she hated that depraved beast. Never mind that his mind was gone; that didn't make him innocent of his crimes. And Forenze had even said that he may regain his memory, making him a ticking time bomb. Why in the galaxy would Mothma want to risk that?  
  
Someone tapped on her door.  
  
"Come in," she called, hastily wiping her eyes.  
  
Luke poked his head in timidly. "You okay?"  
  
She nodded. "Barely."  
  
He smiled apologetically and knelt beside her, putting a comforting hand around her shoulders. "Han told me what Mothma decided and that you had 'gone off in a huff,' as he eloquently put it."  
  
"Do you blame me?"  
  
"Not in the least. I couldn't believe the news myself." He shook his head. "I just don't see why she would want him as a Rebel, amnesiac or not. So many people have suffered so much at his hands, he's bound to be shot inside an hour."  
  
"If I had a blaster, I'd take care of that right now."  
  
"No, Leia. For one thing, Mothma's posted guards at the med center doors. And for another thing, if either of us tries to kill him, we're no better than him. We'd be as much of murderers as he is."  
  
"I hate it when you're right," she murmured, laying her head against his shoulder. Why did she feel so safe around Luke? It wasn't as if she was sexually attracted to him. It was more of a best-friend feeling, as if she could confide in him. Maybe it was because they had gone through so much together these past few days.  
  
"You're not the only one hurt by him," Luke went on.  
  
"Don't lecture me."  
  
"I'm not. I'm just saying that he's hurt me too."  
  
She sat up and looked him in the eye. "How... Kenobi! I'm so sorry. I forgot that he'd killed your Jedi Master..."  
  
"Before that," Luke murmured, voice growing rough. "My father was once a Jedi Knight. He and Vader trained under Kenobi, and Vader was seduced by the dark side of the Force. He... betrayed... and murdered my father."  
  
She rested a hand on his. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be. It was a long time ago." He became thoughtful. "I wish I could remember what he looked like. I have no memory of him."  
  
"I'm sure he looked a lot like you. Blue hair, blond eyes... handsome," she added teasingly.  
  
He blushed. "Oh, stop it!"  
  
She pushed him good-naturedly. "You always know how to make me feel better, Luke."  
  
"Anything for a Princess of Alderaan." He stood. "Come on, let's get something to eat. Then I'm going in for more flight sims, if you want to watch me."  
  
"You've been in the simulator all day. Are you glued to the chair or what?"  
  
He laughed. "Commander Ghede says I need to keep myself up to par if I want to stay his second. Stang, he's strict!"  
  
"But he's the best we've got," Leia replied. "And with more and more pilots being recruited from all corners of the galaxy, we need a firm hand over the squadron."  
  
"I suppose you're right."  
  
As they walked out of her quarters together, a distasteful expression crossed his face.  
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
"I just realized -- what if they make Vader a pilot? I mean, I saw him flying during the Death Star battle, and even a memory wipe can't clear out that much skill! If he's stuck in our squadron..."  
  
"You'll deal with him," Leia replied. "I'm sure of it. We may not like it, but we're stuck with him for now."  
  
***  
  
...the desert sands were really flying in his face now, as Sebulba roared past him with a malicious cackle. Oh, that twisted creature was so going to pay for this! He leaned effortlessly into the curve, feeling the engines rumble as they compensated for the thrust of energy he poured into them...  
  
Vader returned to reality with a shiver. He had found a place inside himself where, if he withdrew there for a time, he could meditate on his past and draw out a memory. The images he found were often unclear and never in chronological order, but they provided pieces of his life that he hoped he could piece together.  
  
"No, no, no!" shrieked Forenze, lecturing a medical droid who was preparing a bacta tank for an incoming patient. "What idiot programmed your virus-corrupted memory banks? Burn victims get a 1:4 mix of bacta, while widespread lacerations get 1:6! We can't waste this stuff by soaking everyone who so much as scrapes their knees in a full-strength solution!"  
  
"Dr. Forenze?" Vader interrupted.  
  
"What?" she asked, somewhat less irritated. Vader suspected she was actually enjoying his questions, which provided a break in the constant chaos of the med center.  
  
"I remember a race... with repulsor-vehicles of some sort... each was towed by two massive engines connected by a beam of energy. What sort of sport is that?"  
  
"Oh, that's podracing," she replied. "Exhilarating to see but highly illegal, though I've seen a few in my lifetime. Why, you remember watching one?"  
  
"No. I remember participating in one."  
  
She shook her head. "That memory must be slightly flawed. Humans just don't have the reflexes to fly a podracer. Sorry."  
  
He didn't believe her. The memory clearly placed him in the driver's seat. Perhaps he had a specially modified racer, or he had some sort of extra talent that allowed him to operate one.  
  
He had regained some of his strength over the past twenty-four hours, and Forenze permitted him to walk around a bit from time to time. Right now he was seated close to the med center's only window, by the computer terminal, where he was perusing the Alliance's information files. After some tinkering he had been able to call up Luke Skywalker's stats, and these he read now.  
  
LUKE SKYWALKER  
  
AGE: 18  
  
HOMEWORLD: Tatooine  
  
SPECIES: Human  
  
RELATIONS: Father -- Anakin Skywalker (deceased); Mother -- Unknown (presumed deceased); Spouse -- None  
  
RANK: Second Commander of Alliance Fighter Squadron; Jedi Knight in training  
  
HISTORY: Raised by aunt and uncle on family moisture farm until their deaths. Tutored briefly by Jedi General Obi-wan "Ben" Kenobi (now deceased). Involved in rescue of Princess Leia Organa from Death Star and delivery of Death Star plans to Alliance. Joined Alliance as pilot, flew with Red Squadron in Battle of Yavin. Responsible for destruction of Death Star; promoted to Second Commander of as-yet-unnamed fighter squadron for this action.  
  
Vader shook his head. Nothing in here indicated he had known the boy previously. If anything, it only raised more questions. Who was Princess Leia? Who was Obi-wan Kenobi? Why did the name Anakin also seem familiar? What in the galaxy was the Death Star, and why did it need to be destroyed? Though with a name like the Death Star, it didn't take much imagination to see why it was so dangerous.  
  
On a whim he entered another name into the computer, calling up a bio.  
  
VLASK FORENZE  
  
AGE: 38  
  
HOMEWORLD: Corusant  
  
SPECIES: Fosh  
  
RELATIONS: Father -- Odrian Vergere (deceased); Mother -- Siyax Vergere (deceased); Spouse -- Nambaa Forenze (deceased)  
  
RANK: Medical Officer  
  
HISTORY: Born and raised on Corusant; parents worked as partners in law firm. Rumored to have Jedi uncle, presumed deceased. Attended medical school and worked as doctor in Corusant's Temple District until instatement of Empire. Joined in alien uprising against Empire that resulted in deaths of parents and husband. Fled planet and joined Alliance on Dantooine.  
  
He felt incredibly sorry for Forenze, who had lost so much to the Empire. This organization had to be terribly cruel. Who in their right mind would serve such a twisted, sadistic regime?  
  
/I wonder/ he thought, and tried one more name. A third bio appeared, complete with an image.  
  
/Good stars, is that me?/ He placed a hand against his mask, examining it thoroughly by touch. As far as he could tell, it matched the one worn by the man staring back at him from the computer.  
  
And a fearsome man he was -- broad shoulders, intimidating build and posture, a forever-snarling mask, battle armor, thick gauntlets, a cloak sweeping behind him to add to his impressive stature. Small wonder the few people who dared enter the med center were so nervous when they saw him. If he met this man on the street, he would give him a wide berth.  
  
But it was the bio he was more interested in. It would provide a much-needed link to his past -- he hoped.  
  
DARTH VADER  
  
AGE: Unknown, estimated to be in early 40s  
  
HOMEWORLD: Unknown  
  
SPECIES: Human or humanoid  
  
RELATIONS: Unknown  
  
Not much here. Curses.  
  
RANK: Sith Lord; Right-hand man of Emperor Palpatine  
  
Stunned, he read that line again. And again, hoping it was an error. No. It couldn't be. He wasn't... he read on.  
  
HISTORY: Little known about past; thought to have been a Jedi who left the Order. Came into power at time of Empire's rise. Responsible for destruction of Jedi Temple and genocide of entire Jedi Order. Commanded Imperial Fleet and ensured Emperor's orders were carried out. Notorious for killing lower officers who displeased him. Fought in aerial combat during Battle of Yavin and shot down; crashed on Yavin IV and captured by Alliance.  
  
Hands trembling, he closed out of the bio. It couldn't be true! How could he be a mass murderer? The thought made him sick! He couldn't be an Imperial -- and the Emperor's right-hand man, to boot! Was he truly a Sith, a barbaric tyrant who killed his own men and countless others?  
  
His vision blurred. It all made sense now. That was why he'd been strapped to the bed when he awoke. They had thought him dangerous. And everyone was scared witless of him because they thought he would lose his temper and slaughter all in his path at any moment.  
  
Angrily he clenched his fists and covered his masked face. He was a murderer. Of all the cruel jokes fate could have played on him, this was by far the worst. If this was his past -- death, genocide, murder, tyranny -- he had no further desire to explore it.  
  
But he couldn't shake the memories that came to him -- images that begged to be explained, faces that pleaded for recognition. Grudgingly he admitted that, while he may detest his past as an Imperial, he had to probe further into it. If nothing else, he had to find reasons for his actions. That way, he could ensure he never committed such crimes again.  
  
He located a search program and typed in the name DARTH VADER. Over five hundred files were called up. It was time to start his research. 


	4. Chapter 4

Quick Author's Note -- I have read very few of the Star Wars books and none of the Rogue Squadron books, so I made up most of the pilots. Did incorporate some "real" Rogues, though.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Ghede Ironmoon was an almost painfully handsome man, with the signature deep azure skin, red eyes, and jet-black hair of his species, the Chiss. He wore his hair cropped short and was rarely seen wearing anything other than a flight uniform. In fact, those around him could testify that his every waking moment revolved around flying. He didn't show the boyish enthusiasm toward it that Luke and some of the younger pilots did -- rather, he approached it as a workaholic approached his career, as something of utmost seriousness that should never be taken lightly.  
  
Apparently he expected his squadron to do the same.  
  
"It's not a simple matter of twisting a steergrip and pulling a trigger," he lectured, pacing across the front of the room where the squadron had gathered. "It is an art form, a symbiosis of pilot and fighter. When you buckle yourself into the pilot's seat, you become part of that intricate machine, a mechanism within it."  
  
"Yadda, yadda, yadda," muttered Zev under his breath in Luke's general direction. "I can repeat this one in my sleep."  
  
Luke nodded slightly but said nothing. He had a feeling Ghede wouldn't be too pleased to find his Second Commander spreading gossip about him.  
  
Of the thirteen pilots in the squadron, seven were human -- Luke, Wedge, Zev, Janson, Hobbie, Gavin, and a woman whom Luke didn't know. The others included Ghede, a female Twi'lek named Ar'ya, a male Duros named Dekham, a female Mon Calamari named Mela, a male Sullustan named Squib, and a male Wookie whom everyone called Rocky. All wore the trademark orange jumpsuits of Rebel pilots, their gray helmets resting in their laps. And all were bored stiff by Ghede's speech. Hobbie had dozed off, Dekham was entertaining himself by fidgeting with a hydrospanner, and everyone else was staring, glassy-eyed, at their Commander, nodding at appropriate intervals.  
  
"I expect nothing less than your absolute best in this squadron," Ghede went on with a scowl. "You will devote all your energy toward improving your flight skills. I will tolerate no slacking or shirking of your training. Am I clear?"  
  
Everyone murmured half-hearted assent.  
  
"Any questions?" he asked finally.  
  
The young woman raised her hand.  
  
"And you are?" inquired Ghede.  
  
"Bekme Olie," she replied. The girl looked more like a perky cheerleader for a school smashball team than a Rebel pilot, with nut-brown hair, hazel eyes, a knockout smile, and the kind of figure that garnered plenty of second looks from the men of the Alliance.  
  
"Your question?"  
  
"Shouldn't our squadron have a name? I mean, even the Empire has an elite Death Squadron. And back on Naboo there was a Bravo Squadron..."  
  
"Naboo?" Ghede raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be related to Captain Ric Olie, would you?"  
  
She beamed. "He's my father. He served in Her Majesty Queen Amidala's navy for years, and was a great pilot before the Empire disbanded Bravo Squadron."  
  
He nodded, unimpressed. "Naboo has a reputation as a pacifist world, one of the reasons they allowed the Empire to overrun them," he noted drolly. "I'm surprised that one of their people has elected to join a fighting star squadron. Unusual."  
  
Bekme blushed and ducked her head in shame. Luke felt himself bristle angrily. That oblique insult was uncalled for!  
  
"Yeah, she's right!" Dekham exclaimed. "I'm tired of calling ourselves 'Alliance Squadron!'"  
  
Ghede's scowl deepened. "This is trivial compared to..."  
  
"Let's take suggestions," suggested Luke. "Who has any ideas?"  
  
"How about 'KIBS?'" suggested Janson. "Stands for 'Kill the Imperial Bastards Squadron.'" Everyone but Ghede laughed.  
  
"Dragon Squadron!" insisted Wedge. "They're the most vicious and resilient species in the galaxy, and it's fitting."  
  
"Savage Squadron, 'cause we show no mercy toward the Empire," proposed Squib.  
  
"No, too vengeful-sounding," dismissed Ar'ya. "Noble Squadron?"  
  
Ghede raised a hand to silence the pilots. "The Empire has a Death Squadron, you say? Then we shall be known as Life Squadron. Matter settled."  
  
Hobbie woke with a start. "Whozzat? What squadron?"  
  
"Life Squadron," Ghede repeated. "Our squadron."  
  
"Life Squadron?" demanded Hobbie. "What the stang kind of name is that?"  
  
"You can contemplate that while on KP duty for the next week for backtalking an officer and inattendance during a meeting," Ghede replied coldly. "I want everyone flight-ready in fifteen minutes. We're going to go over some drills and maneuvers."  
  
Everyone left the room, grumbling over the Commander's unfairness.  
  
"KP for a week!" huffed Hobbie. "I can't help it if he's a boring stiff!"  
  
"And he had no right to treat Bekme like that," Mela replied.  
  
Rocky barked, and the translation device he wore on his shoulder kicked in. "Why isn't Luke Commander? Everyone knows he's the better pilot. Luke destroyed the Death Star and captured Darth Vader, and what did Ghede do? Knocked off two TIEs before his repulsors got hit and he had to retreat."  
  
"He does have a lot of experience," Wedge said in Ghede's defense. "After all, he risked his life helping us evacuate the Dantooine base..."  
  
"And demands we remember that every time we so much as breathe in his presence," Zev snapped.  
  
"Hey Luke!"  
  
Gavin, a dark-haired mustached pilot, clapped Luke on the shoulder, grinning broadly all the while.  
  
"Do I know you?" asked Luke.  
  
"Not personally," he replied. "But I've heard a lot about you from a relative of mine. You knew my cousin, Biggs."  
  
Luke's mouth fell open. "You're a Darklighter?"  
  
"Yup. Gavin Darklighter. Biggs told me about a certain blond bush pilot who was the best in the Outer Rim territories and was going to make a name for himself someday. Turned out to be prophetic. Way to enter the Alliance with a bang, eh?"  
  
Luke laughed. "Believe me, I never intended to be a hero."  
  
"Few real heroes aspire to the calling," Gavin replied. "Hey, sorry about Biggs. I'm really going to miss him."  
  
"Me too," Luke replied wistfully.  
  
"Excuse me?" Bekme interrupted, coming up at that moment. "I couldn't help but overhear..."  
  
"Sure you could," Gavin teased.  
  
"...but did you just say you're Luke Skywalker?" she went on, ignoring Gavin.  
  
"Guilty," Luke replied. He'd gotten pretty much used to people approaching him as if he were a holostar.  
  
"Wow," she breathed. "The man who destroyed the Death Star and captured Darth Vader. You must be brave."  
  
"I... didn't really capture Vader. He was half-dead already when I found him. And I couldn't have destroyed the Death Star without Han's help."  
  
"But you fired the torpedoes," Bekme pointed out. "And I'm sure Vader could have killed you at any moment."  
  
"He has amnesia," Luke explained. "He doesn't remember how to use the Force or even that he's the Emperor's right-hand man."  
  
Gavin whistled. "What are they going to do with him?"  
  
"Last I heard, High Command was going to make him a Rebel."  
  
It was Gavin's turn to gape. "A Rebel?!"  
  
"My reaction exactly," Luke murmured.  
  
"Somehow I can't picture Vader fighting on our side," Bekme said.  
  
"They'd better keep him out of Life Squadron," threatened Gavin. "Or I resign."  
  
Luke decided a subject change was in order. "So Bekme, what's Naboo like?"  
  
"Oh, grasslands, forests, swamps," she replied. "Far cry from Tatooine, even if they're fairly close space-wise. The Empire controls the cities, but the wild lands belong to the native species, Gungans."  
  
"You're pretty gutsy to join the Rebellion when you come from an Imperial world," Gavin said admiringly.  
  
"It was my dad who got me into the Rebellion, believe it or not," she replied, a sad smile on her face. "He served Queen Amidala, and he used to tell me that she would have been disgusted by the violence in the galaxy today. She abhorred the unnecessary use of force."  
  
"So that observation made you join the Alliance," Gavin observed.  
  
"That's why I'm here," she answered.  
  
"Are you three flying today or not?" demanded Ghede, approaching at that moment.  
  
"Keep your flightsuit on," humphed Gavin quietly -- but not quietly enough.  
  
"KP tonight for insubordination, Darklighter," snapped Ghede. "And you as well, Olie, if you don't put some speed into your step."  
  
She blushed again and stalked toward her ship in a huff. Luke was about to follow but was stopped by Ghede's arm.  
  
"A word, Skywalker."  
  
"With you, Commander, it's never just a word," Luke quipped, trying to be funny. But his humor was wasted.  
  
"I would appreciate it if you keep your banter with the pilots to a minimum," he ordered.  
  
"What? But they're my friends!"  
  
"You are not their flight buddy, Skywalker. You are their Second Commander. They should respect you as a leader. If they consider you a friend, they'll think you will let them get away with foolish behavior. Flaws will develop in the squadron -- dangerous flaws. If you want Life Squadron to be an efficient fighting force, you should treat them like soldiers."  
  
"Like lesser beings, you mean?" Luke asked disbelievingly.  
  
"No, like an officer treats troops. With discipline. Am I clear?"  
  
Luke rolled his eyes. "This is outrageous. I'm not going to act like a snob around the squadron! Find another Second."  
  
"You are my Second Commander, Skywalker, and you'll do as I say." Ghede slid on his helmet and turned to his fighter.  
  
"I'm beginning to hate this job," Luke muttered, going to his X-wing.  
  
***  
  
"Stinkin' heap of rusted mynock bait," Forenze snapped, throwing her spanner on the table where the dissected medical droid lay. "Trust the makers to stick the Vocoder where the logic processor should go."  
  
Vader looked up from the computer. "Anything I can do to help?"  
  
"Not unless you can work miracles with junkyard rejects," she replied.  
  
He left her to her grumbling as he continued to scan what had to be the hundredth news article detailing an Imperial raid led on a city suspected of harboring Rebels -- led by Vader, of course. The Alliance had certainly hoarded a lot of information regarding him, from Holonet articles to spy reports to bios of deceased Rebel leaders and Jedi Generals. None of what he read was comforting, and a lot of it was extremely heartbreaking.  
  
From what he could sift out of the mess, he had been a fearsome military commander, preferring a hands-on approach to leading his troops. He had fought along with his men in the front lines, not content to direct the soldiers from afar. And he had been extremely wealthy, though he purchased few luxuries apart from a fortress on Bast and a collection of starcraft. But precious little else of value could be garnered from these files.  
  
His heart sank as he reviewed the files he'd examined so far -- a Holonet news article of his order to raze an entire planetary sector of Falleen, an obituary of an Imperial Admiral he'd killed with his bare hands, a low-brow tabloid "reporting" the ridiculous "breaking news" that he had a secret Jedi wife hidden away on the planet of Chandrila. He could find no clue as to why he'd fallen so low. Vader was a mystery, even to himself.  
  
"Do you really have a Jedi uncle?" Vader asked, looking up.  
  
"You talking to me?" she demanded.  
  
"The only others here are the droids," he pointed out. "And I doubt they have uncles of any sort."  
  
"You read my bio, didn't you?" she asked. "I keep asking them to fix that. My Jedi relative was an aunt, not an uncle."  
  
"Ah." He struggled to find the words. "I am... deeply sorry..."  
  
"Oh, get over it. It's the past. You can't go back and unkill every Jedi, or the galaxy would be crawling with them. Besides, you didn't kill her."  
  
"I didn't?"  
  
"Nope." She swore loudly when a cog she had been twisting too hard snapped. "Jedi Master Vergere vanished seven years before the Clone Wars and was never heard of again. I think the Jedi Council was actually quite glad to be rid of her. She was always at odds with them over parts of the Code. My guess is she's starting her own Order in some dark corner of the universe."  
  
The med center door opened, and a roguish man with tousled brown hair entered, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was followed by an equally scruffy but far calmer Wookie.  
  
"Good morning, Dr. Forenze," the man greeted.  
  
"Is it?" was her reply. "Vader, meet Han Solo, smuggler, pirate, and captain of the Millennium Falcon. The pile of hair behind him's his co-pilot Chewbacca, but everyone calls him Chewie."  
  
"A pleasure, Captain Solo," Vader greeted, standing and extending a hand.  
  
"Yeah," Han replied without meaning it, hesitantly clasping the proffered hand. He released it rather quickly.  
  
"And good morning, Chewbacca." He was unsure of Wookie customs and so gave a slight bow.  
  
Chewie nodded in return, growling softly and reaching out with a paw.  
  
"He says hi, and it's safe to shake his hand," Han translated.  
  
"Thank you, Han," Vader replied as Chewie proceeded to grab his hand and shake his entire arm. Stang, he was strong!  
  
Awkward silence. Han scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor while Vader waited, motionless.  
  
"I'm not going to bite you, Han," Vader said finally.  
  
"It's not the biting I'm afraid of," Han replied.  
  
"I see. So what was my preferred method of killing before my accident?"  
  
"Uh... according to the rumors... Force-choking."  
  
"Then you will be pleased to know that I no longer know how to access the Force," he went on. "You are safe."  
  
"Right," Han retorted, unconvinced.  
  
Chewie whuffed.  
  
"Oh, be quiet," Han retorted. "I have a right to be paranoid."  
  
"Why are you here anyway, Han?" demanded Forenze.  
  
"Mothma told us to meet her here..." Han began.  
  
"So you two have met," Mothma observed, striding up at that moment. Dressed in white military fatigues with short red hair and a stately appearance, she radiated a sense of logical calm. Even though Vader had never met the head of the Alliance before now, he knew this could be no one else.  
  
"Good day, Madam Mothma," he greeted, bowing.  
  
"You called?" Han asked far more casually.  
  
"If you intend to remain with the Rebellion, Solo, you should show some respect toward its leaders," she replied.  
  
"I never said I'd join your little revolution, ma'am," he shot back. "I just figured I'd stick around awhile, wait for those hitmen of Jabba's to lose interest, then I'm gone."  
  
"I see," she replied, though her smile indicated she knew otherwise. "So while you're 'sticking around,' Solo, I'm sure you won't mind taking on a task or two, will you?"  
  
"Depends on the task," he said bluntly.  
  
She turned her attention to Vader. "Darth Vader, now that you have recovered from your injuries, I would like to know what you plan on doing. You are free to leave and seek your fortune elsewhere, of course. Or you may remain here on Yavin IV with the Rebellion. I can offer you a sure place in the ranks of the Alliance."  
  
Vader was stunned. Was she serious?  
  
"You know, my lady, that I was once the Alliance's most dangerous enemy."  
  
"You were at one point," she acknowledged. "But you are not an enemy to us any longer. That is why I make the offer."  
  
"I have many enemies among the Alliance. If I join, it could drive away many of your men."  
  
"Once they see you are truly one of us, I hope they will lay down their arms."  
  
He nodded. "I will join the Alliance. I do not remember what exactly I have done as an Imperial, for which I'm glad. But it is my hope that I can at least partially redeem myself by supporting a just cause such as the Rebel Alliance."  
  
Mothma smiled. "Dr. Forenze, you have Vader's files updated?"  
  
"As much as possible," she replied, wiping grease from her hands with a rag. "But with the amnesia and all, it's pretty incomplete."  
  
"Upload it into our central computers as soon as possible. File it under Personnel."  
  
"Vader, I'm gonna need the computer," she told him, and he moved to the side to let her sit down. "Which division?"  
  
Mothma paused. "How would you prefer to serve the Rebellion, Vader? As a soldier? Or a technical officer?"  
  
"With all due respect, my lady, I'd prefer a small, out-of-the-way role. It will keep my presence from reminding others of what I have done to them. Perhaps I should simply enlist as a mechanic."  
  
"You will be listed in our files under Maintenance Crews. Welcome aboard, Vader."  
  
He saluted. "My pleasure, my lady."  
  
Han checked the wall chrono. "If that's over with, can I go now? The Falcon needs her hyperdrive overhauled."  
  
"Again?" Forenze inquired. "Thought you just did that yesterday."  
  
"That was the sublight engines."  
  
"Why don't you just toss that heap to the space slugs and get a new ship?"  
  
"Hey, it's in no worse shape than those med droids of yours!" Han shot back.  
  
The malfunctioning droid now attracted Vader's attention, and he picked up a spanner and began tinkering. Contrary to both Han and Forenze's observations, it wasn't in bad condition. But someone had tried to repair the energy matrix with the wrong tools and botched the job. Perhaps, with a tweak here...  
  
"Before you go, Solo," Mothma was saying, "I have an assignment for you."  
  
"What sort of assignment?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"I want you and Chewbacca to serve as Vader's bodyguards."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
Chewie howled.  
  
"Please," she requested. "To say Vader is extremely unpopular here is an understatement. Hateful feelings are running very deep now. Once he leaves the medical center, he will be in great danger."  
  
"And I'm not going to patch him up every day," Forenze griped. "Better things to do with my time."  
  
"I'm not going to babysit him," Han declared. "He starts a fight, he's on his own. I think he's capable of defending himself."  
  
"Han Solo," Mothma said firmly, "Vader is your responsibility. If he comes to any harm, you will answer to me. Understood?"  
  
Han quite grudgingly complied.  
  
"Then you are dismissed," she finished, exiting the med center.  
  
Chewie barked.  
  
"I don't care if he's not evil anymore," Han grumbled. "I didn't come to Yavin to be Vader's chaperone."  
  
"I won't be a burden to you, Solo," Vader told him as he activated the droid. "I will try to make your assignment as easy as possible."  
  
"Well, I still don't like... what are you doing?"  
  
Forenze's eyes went wide. "You fixed the blasted thing!"  
  
"The matrix needed some work and probably still needs replacing," Vader replied. "But it should last a few months longer."  
  
"I'll be," she breathed. "Mechanic indeed. You can work miracles with that lost cause."  
  
"You must know your machines pretty well," Han observed.  
  
Vader shrugged. "I'm good at fixing things. Always have been..." His voice trailed off. Another memory had come to life.  
  
...his mother was going to be pleased when he surprised her with this droid! Of course, Watto wouldn't be happy if he ever found just where those 'missing' components went -- all the more reason to keep See Threepio hidden until he was complete. He screwed up his face in concentration as he fastened the motivator into place. It was an old part, a mere M-17. A protocol droid really needed a KB-220 or better, but this one would have to do for now...  
  
He shook his head. "A junk shop. I worked in one while growing up. I remember now."  
  
"And it shows," Forenze said admiringly.  
  
Han was really interested now. "If you're good at fixing droids, can you do bigger projects? Say, starships? Even a freighter?"  
  
"I don't know," he confessed. "But I can try."  
  
For the first time, Han's face broke into a wide grin. "I think we'll get along a lot better than I first thought. C'mon, I'll give you a tour of the place. Then I'll show you the Falcon. She doesn't look like much, but she's the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy..."  
  
Chewie rolled his eyes as Han continued talking excitedly. Vader only laughed to himself, following the pair of them out. It would seem that he didn't have only enemies among the Alliance after all. After all, with a smuggler, Wookie, and medical officer on his side, what more could he ask for? 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Luke stifled the urge to yawn loudly into his comm. It would get him in trouble with Ghede, but it would also drive home the point that having Life Squadron go over basic maneuvers a dozen times a day was completely pointless. If anything, it only served to bore them out of their skulls.  
  
"Bombardment formation," Ghede ordered. "Sweep the area."  
  
Obediently thirteen X-wings spread out in a wide, sweeping formation, one nicely suited to strafing large targets like bases or outposts. Except for the fact that there was only dense jungle and scattered ruins to strafe, of course. Luke had never imagined that flying could become boring, but apparently Ghede had a vampirish ability to suck the fun out of everything.  
  
"Tight V, Life Eight center."  
  
The fighters drew together, Gavin in the lead, the rest of the squadron in two equal lines behind. This formation was best for small targets that required intense fire. The lead fighter would fire at the target until he had to pull up, then the ones behind would continue firing, and so forth. This ensured an almost uninterrupted stream of fire pouring onto the target. If only they had an actual target.  
  
"How much longer are we going to keep this up?" Ar'ya asked in her most diplomatic tone.  
  
"We'll break at 1400. Now form up in the Flying Dragon."  
  
It was one of the trickier formations -- a sort of flattened M shape, with the rear ships higher than the front ships. After the squadron made a fifth failed attempt at it, Ghede informed them there would be no break until they got it right.  
  
"Wish something exciting would happen," muttered Zev.  
  
"Can the chatter, Life Six!"  
  
***  
  
"And this is the main hangar," Han told Vader, sweeping his arm in an encompassing gesture. "That's the Falcon. Beautiful, isn't she?"  
  
Vader snorted a laugh. "You were right about the 'hunk of junk' part."  
  
"Ha, ha," Han replied sarcastically. "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts."  
  
"Looks like you've done extensive modifying."  
  
"Yeah, well, I like to keep her semi-up-to-date."  
  
"How is she in the air?"  
  
"You want to find out? Chewie, power her up. We'll see if the sub-light overhaul did any good."  
  
***  
  
"Sir, I'm picking up something big on my scope," Squib said worriedly. Being the youngest member of the squadron at sixteen, he had a chronic paranoid streak that countered his exceptional shooting ability.  
  
Luke craned his neck to look back at the base. Rising up from the Massassi temple was the familiar disk-shaped freighter he'd come to know well.  
  
"Life Leader to freighter, identify yourself," barked Ghede.  
  
"Han Solo, Millennium Falcon. I'm taking her on a flight to test some modifications I did."  
  
"Carry on, Solo, just stay away from the squadron."  
  
"Will try, sir."  
  
"Life, Flying Dragon again, and straighten up that left wing!"  
  
Luke sighed and took his place at the right rear end of the formation. If something didn't happen to break the monotony of Ghede's drills, he'd have to stir up some excitement of his own.  
  
***  
  
"What do you think?" Han asked as he and Chewie took the Falcon on a low glide over the treetops.  
  
Vader nodded in satisfaction. It was a pleasure to be up in the air. Somehow it felt right and natural to be here, to be airborne. But something seemed to be missing. He wasn't sure what, though.  
  
"For a ship held together with dumb luck and crating tape, she flies well," he said aloud.  
  
"You like her?"  
  
"Very much." But in his mind he was already calculating what tools, parts, and labor would be needed to get the Falcon in proper flying shape. The list was staggeringly long. Well, perhaps he should leave out the cosmetic repairs. If Han had been flying her this long in this condition, he probably didn't care whether she looked like a luxury space yacht or a beater as long as she ran...  
  
"You want to fly her?"  
  
Vader stared at Han. "What?"  
  
"I asked if you wanted to fly her."  
  
A shiver of excitement gripped his stomach. "Are you serious?"  
  
"I normally don't let just anyone in the pilot's chair," Han explained as he stood. "But if you're going to be doing work on her, it's a good idea for you to know how she handles."  
  
Vader sat down in Han's place, a delicious thrill of anticipation flooding through him. Somehow this felt right, as if he was returning to his proper place after many years. Instinctively he took the controls, fed a little fuel to the repulsors, and shifted in his seat to find a comfortable position, which he found almost instantly.  
  
"Now the pitch is a little touchy..." Han cautioned.  
  
"How fast can she go?" Vader asked.  
  
"Point five past light speed. Sub-light, I'd say..."  
  
He didn't wait for Han to finish. Instead, he punched the throttle.  
  
***  
  
"Tighten formation!"  
  
"Sir, when are we ever going to use the Flying Dragon?" asked Wedge. "It's a parade formation. The Alliance doesn't do parades."  
  
"I require my pilots to know all basic formations," Ghede replied.  
  
"Uh, sir?" Squib said nervously.  
  
"What is it this time, Life Ten?" Ghede demanded in exasperation.  
  
"The Falcon's coming up behind us really fast."  
  
"Han knows to keep a safe distance from us..." Luke started to assure him.  
  
An alarm screeched in every pilot's cockpit. The Falcon was headed for them -- on a collision course!  
  
"Son of a jumpin'..." began Janson.  
  
"Break formation!" Luke screamed.  
  
Life Squadron scattered in all directions as the freighter roared through where they had just been. Had Luke been any slower in his order, one or more pilots would have been plastered against the Falcon's bow. A few chaotic moments passed as Ghede and Luke tried to restore order.  
  
"Regroup," Ghede ordered. "He may come around for another pass."  
  
"Han, what was that all about?" asked Luke. Was it another of the Corellian's jokes? If so, it wasn't particularly funny.  
  
In answer the ship made an impossibly tight turn and charged them again.  
  
***  
  
"What the hell are you doing?!" screamed Han, arms flailing for balance as the Falcon tilted almost perpendicular to the ground to make the turn.  
  
Vader only laughed ecstatically, pouring more power to the engines. This was ecstasy! How he'd missed this! It was as if he were part of the machinery of the Falcon, one with it. He felt invincible, omnipotent, a sky-god on a durasteel steed commanding the skies. He knew exactly how much stress the thrusters could take, how much juice to give the engines, how quickly he was approaching an obstacle...  
  
And he was rapidly approaching such an obstacle! He wrenched at the controls.  
  
"Watch out for --" Han began half-hysterically.  
  
***  
  
"Hobbie, look out!" Luke shouted.  
  
"Yipe!" squealed Hobbie, veering up. The Falcon missed him by half a meter.  
  
"Solo, this is no time for games!" Ghede shouted.  
  
"Where's your sense of fun, Commander?" answered a deep, electronic voice that was definitely not Han.  
  
Luke nearly choked with fear. Had the Alliance's worst fear indeed come true? Had Vader regained his memory and hijacked the Falcon in order to escape? And was he trying to eliminate Life Squadron on his way out?  
  
"After that ship, Life!" Ghede barked. "Disable or destroy it, whatever it takes! But it can't leave the planet!"  
  
They'd gotten the excitement they were looking for.  
  
***  
  
"You're going to get us all killed!" Han shouted.  
  
Chewie barked.  
  
"Whaddaya mean he reminds you of me when I was younger?" Han demanded. "I never flew like this maniac!"  
  
Chewie said something that sounded remarkably like "Whose idea was it to let the maniac fly?"  
  
What Han replied with Vader didn't know, for another memory inserted itself into his mind's eye.  
  
..."You know I don't like it when you do that!"  
  
"Sorry, Master," he replied without meaning it. His attention was solely on maneuvering the skycar through Corusant's traffic-clogged airways in pursuit of the would-be assassin. He was shooting through the air at top speed -- against the flow of traffic, to boot -- but the threat of crashing didn't concern him in the least.  
  
"I forgot you don't like flying," he added.  
  
"I don't mind flying, but what you're doing is suicide!" the passenger screamed...  
  
"Whoa!" Han exclaimed, partly in fear but mostly in awe, as Vader executed a flawless barrel roll.  
  
***  
  
Luke gritted his teeth as he pursued the Falcon on a crazy, twist-filled course. He had no idea that ship was so maneuverable! But with Vader at the controls, what was he to expect?  
  
"Wedge, Gavin, cover me," he ordered. "I'm going after him."  
  
"Sure thing, Luke," Wedge replied.  
  
"Go get 'em, Skywalker," urged Gavin.  
  
The Falcon looped around a particularly tall tree, then soared straight up in the sky. Luke climbed after him, never minding the lurch of his stomach at the sudden change in direction. Now he had no qualms about killing Vader. He was no longer the dying shipwreck victim he had hauled out of the jungle, but a dangerous enemy in aerial combat. Behind the controls of starcraft, they were even adversaries.  
  
His targeting computer locked onto the freighter. He applied pressure to the trigger...  
  
/Luke!/  
  
/Get out of my mind, Obi-wan!/  
  
/Your friend Han is aboard that ship. Would you stoop so low as to kill him to see Vader dead?/  
  
Han! Luke had completely forgotten that the smuggler was aboard the Falcon! He couldn't shoot now. Han was his friend, and he couldn't kill his friend... even if it meant letting Vader live.  
  
"Shoot to disable," Luke ordered the squadron. "There are others on that ship besides Vader."  
  
"Not to mention that Solo'll kill you if you dent his precious heap," Janson joked.  
  
"That too," Luke acknowledged.  
  
"He's going to try to thread the Needle!" Mela shouted in disbelief.  
  
"Oh no," groaned Dekham. "That'll be a mess."  
  
***  
  
"Thanks for letting me fly, Han," said Vader, banking sharply.  
  
"No problem," Han replied. His fear had gone now that he saw that Vader was actually an exceptional pilot. Confident that the former Sith wouldn't be involved in an accident, he had started suggesting maneuvers and acrobatics for him to try.  
  
"Betcha fifty creds you can't thread the Needle," Han dared.  
  
"What's the Needle?" asked Vader.  
  
"That." Han pointed to a set of ruins ahead. The remains of two stone towers jutted skyward, a sliver of daylight shining between them.  
  
"The Needle," Vader repeated, grinning eagerly. "Get your wallet out, Han." He gunned the engine.  
  
***  
  
Mothma and Fey'la were talking in her office when she happened to look out the window. The towers of the nearby Blackstone temple were visible from her office, and she had often watched pilots attempt to squeeze their ships between them during their off hours. Today, though, Ghede had planned to drill the squadron until they screamed, so there would be no such antics today -- she thought.  
  
So naturally she was surprised to see a freighter burst out of nowhere and slide through the gap between the towers with centimeters to spare.  
  
"What was that?" demanded Fey'la.  
  
She smiled. She had overheard Han and Vader talking about the Falcon as they left the med center together. If she wasn't mistaken, Vader was piloting that ship. And if her instincts were correct, she would have to pull Vader aside and speak to him. He hadn't wanted a role on the Rebellion's front lines, but perhaps with some persuasion...  
  
"As soon as that ship returns to the hangar," Mothma told Fey'la, "I want its occupants to come to my office."  
  
***  
  
/There goes Han's ship/ Luke thought dejectedly as the Falcon tipped on its port side to enter the gap between the towers. Threading the Needle was difficult enough to do in a fighter. A freighter would be pulverized into scrap in the attempt.  
  
Incredibly enough, though, the Falcon slipped easily through the Needle without so much as a scrape.  
  
"How'd he do that?!" squealed Squib.  
  
"He's some pilot!" Rocky gushed.  
  
"He's insane, that's what he is," Bekme retorted. "What's he trying to do, deep-fry himself?"  
  
"I think he's just having fun," Mela replied.  
  
"Oh, flying's supposed to be fun?" Gavin said sarcastically. "Sorry, I forgot."  
  
Luke only gaped. Like it or not, Vader could fly! Now he realized just how lucky he'd been during the Death Star offensive. Had they had more room to maneuver, he wouldn't have lasted five seconds against the Sith in a space dogfight.  
  
"Stop gawking and shoot him down!" Ghede ordered.  
  
"Sir, he's not trying to escape," Ar'ya pointed out.  
  
"Just shoot to disable," Luke told her. "We can't take chances."  
  
"What the stang is he doing?" demanded Rocky. "He's headed right for that bluff!"  
  
***  
  
"Keep going straight at it," Han insisted.  
  
The cliff face filled the viewscreen and was rapidly coming closer. Vader eased up on the throttle lest their last act in this galaxy be carving out a crater in the stone.  
  
"Hey, don't slow down!" Han exclaimed.  
  
"If we keep going at this speed, we'll be smashed to paste against it," Vader replied.  
  
"Pull up at the last second," Han told him. "It's a real thrill. Trust me."  
  
"Won't she stall with that much strain on the engines?"  
  
Chewie growled.  
  
"Don't be a worry wart, fuzz-ball," Han grumbled. "If the overhaul we did was any good, she'll hold up against the pressure."  
  
Something unfamiliar to Vader, like a quiet but powerful presence, whispered a warning. Unconsciously, as if in a trance, he hauled on the controls. The Falcon began climbing up the cliff face, so close he could have reached out and touched the rock as it blurred by. Han was right -- this was a thrill.  
  
***  
  
Either Vader had decided death was preferable to recapture or he was insane, Luke decided as he trailed the Falcon. Strong argument existed for both theories. But either way, he had to stop him before he injured Han and Chewie.  
  
"Forgive me, Han," he murmured as he aimed carefully at the anti-grav engine. Hopefully that would bring him down without damaging the Falcon too badly.  
  
The freighter shot straight up the cliff face, then slowed to a halt on its own.  
  
***  
  
"Why are you slowing down?"  
  
"I'm not!"  
  
"Then why are we stopping?"  
  
"Don't ask me."  
  
There was a dreadful silence after the engines whined to a halt. The Falcon floated upward a dozen more meters and hung in the air for a seemingly endless moment, as if suspended in glass.  
  
"I think we just stalled," said Vader.  
  
"Ya think?" Han retorted.  
  
***  
  
The freighter hovered a second, as if unsure which direction to take next, then dropped like a stone. Trees snapped and splintered with a horrendous crackling smash as the ship impacted, tearing up the earth in its rough landing. It rocked once like an animal thrashing in pain and was still.  
  
Luke winced. Well, at least he hadn't needed to shoot it down.  
  
"I'll go down and investigate," Ghede said, his fighter gliding down toward the fallen ship. "Luke, continue going over formations with the squadron."  
  
"Copy, Commander. Life, regroup. Scan area."  
  
The X-wings gathered together and circled the air just over the Falcon's crash site. Luke peered down, watching Ghede land, then exit his fighter. Han, Chewie, and Vader climbed out of the Falcon, and Han and Ghede promptly got into a shouting match of some sort while Vader and Chewie inspected the Falcon for damage.  
  
/What's going on?/ Luke wondered. /Why did Han let Vader in his ship in the first place?/  
  
"Luke, aren't we going to go over formations?" asked Bekme.  
  
"No," Luke replied. "We're going to do a round of Spy Pilot."  
  
"That's not a formation," Rocky pointed out. "That's tag in starfighters."  
  
"I know. That's what we're going to do for the next little while."  
  
There was a collective exclamation from every pilot that was something along the lines of "Say what?"  
  
"Oh, come on! We've been at formations for hours. We're tired and cranky and will probably burst an artery if we hear the words 'Flying Dragon' one more time. I say the squadron deserves a break."  
  
"All right!" shouted Zev. "I'm it!"  
  
"But you have to keep quiet," Luke ordered. "If Ghede finds out what we're doing, we all get KP for the next year."  
  
Everyone laughed and veered in all directions as Zev looped around to playfully chase Wedge and Dekham.  
  
***  
  
Ghede sincerely hoped Skywalker could keep the pilots' immature antics under control while he was investigating the Falcon. Never mind that he was probably the worst of them all. Not talent-wise, of course -- the boy was gifted. But talent was useless without discipline, and he was sorely lacking in that area.  
  
He snorted as he climbed out of his X-wing. These children the Alliance kept recruiting frustrated him to no end. To them, war was a game, with every kill a point for their team. They didn't understand that theirs was a task of utmost seriousness -- defending the Alliance from a space-born attack. He had to drive that into their thick skulls somehow.  
  
He'd deal out a good round of discipline later. Right now he had a crazed Sith to handle.  
  
He drew his blaster as he approached the fallen ship.  
  
***  
  
"All right, the overhaul wasn't as good as I thought," Han grumbled as the three of them disembarked. "Vader, I'm gonna need your help to fix her up."  
  
"My pleasure," Vader replied, crouching to inspect the bottom of the ship. "Lucky. We came out of that without anything worse than a few more dents."  
  
Chewie, who was standing atop the Falcon, howled.  
  
"It's not my fault!" Han retorted. "The Alliance was fresh out of that part. I had to substitute..."  
  
/Don't they ever quit arguing?/ Vader wondered.  
  
"Han Solo!"  
  
The blue-skinned Commander of the Alliance Squadron jogged toward them, blaster drawn. Fearing the worst, Vader took a step back.  
  
"Are you all right, Han?" asked Ghede.  
  
"We're all great," Han replied. "Why?"  
  
"Good." Ghede aimed at Vader. "I'm placing Vader under arrest..."  
  
Chewie roared, and Ghede found himself staring down the muzzle of Han's DL-44 pistol.  
  
"I don't think you are," Han replied.  
  
"He hijacked the Falcon and nearly caused the deaths of several members of Life Squadron! Not to mention disrupting their training..."  
  
"You think he HIJACKED us?" Han laughed. "'Course not. I just let him take her for a flight. He's a good pilot."  
  
Ghede gave a disbelieving snort. "And I suppose you're friends with him?"  
  
"I'm his bodyguard," Han replied. "Mothma's order. He's an Alliance mechanic."  
  
Vader could see that Ghede didn't believe him for a minute. But the Chiss eventually decided not to press the matter.  
  
"You're to come with me to the base, Vader," ordered Ghede. "I'll be informing Mothma of this. Han, if that wreck of yours is still in flyable condition, follow me back to the Massassi temple. And for the galaxy's sake, don't let HIM fly it!"  
  
***  
  
It was an hour before the last of Life Squadron got back to base, still on an adrenaline high. Luke felt much better after having a chance to do some free-form flying, without the Commander nagging on him every thirty seconds.  
  
"Thanks for the break," Gavin told him.  
  
"I can almost be thankful for Vader," Bekme noted. "If he hadn't come along and distracted Ghede, we'd still be out there doing formations."  
  
"Spare me," groaned Ar'ya. "I've done the Tight V so many times I can do it in my sleep."  
  
"What I want to know is why he was flying the Falcon," said Wedge. "I mean, sure, he's a member of the Alliance now, but that doesn't exactly give him free access to everything in the base."  
  
"Oh stang," groaned Janson. "Looks like Ghede's ratted on us."  
  
Mon Mothma stood in the center of the hangar, hands clasped behind her. Luke's elation drained in an instant. Were they in trouble? He motioned to the others, and they gathered in a semi-circle before her.  
  
"Lady Mothma..." he began, but no more words would come.  
  
"Is there a problem?" asked Zev.  
  
Unlike Ghede, Mothma didn't shout. That wasn't her way. But Luke almost wished she would scream at them. It would have been easier to deflect a loud, angry rant than her quiet, disappointed statement.  
  
"I am very disappointed in you and your squadron, Skywalker," she said sadly. "I do not agree with all of Commander Ironmoon's techniques myself, but that is no reason to disregard his orders and rebel at the first opportunity. A leader deserves respect, if nothing else."  
  
Guilt-ridden now, Luke stared at his feet. "I'm sorry, Mothma."  
  
"I would accept your apology, Luke, but I'm not the one you should apologize to. Please speak to Ghede. He's in my office."  
  
"Should the rest of us go too?" asked Dekham. "We should apologize too..."  
  
"You may do so at a later time," Mothma told him. "I require Skywalker's presence anyhow. There have been... developments." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Tensions were running high in Mothma's office as Ghede reported the day's events to her. The Chiss' face was an interesting shade of lavender, but otherwise he was doing an excellent job of keeping his anger under control. Luke, Han, Chewie, and Vader sat anxiously, awaiting whatever lay in store for them.  
  
Luke was especially antsy. Was he to be disciplined for disregarding Ghede's orders? He felt he could tolerate that only if Vader was also punished for his role in this whole mess. Though he still didn't know why Han had allowed Vader behind the Falcon's controls in the first place. He'd have to get him alone later and ask.  
  
"So you claim that Vader maliciously attacked your squadron and disrupted their training?" she asked.  
  
"That's about the gist of it," Ghede replied.  
  
"'Attacked' is a rather strong word," she said. "Vader, can you explain what happened?"  
  
Luke tried not to stare at Vader as he stood to defend himself, but it was impossible. The man was laughably out of place in the Rebellion, standing out like a Tusken Raider in Corusant's metropolitan district. Wherever he went in the Massassi Base, he called attention to himself.  
  
"Han and Chewbacca wished to take the Falcon for a test flight," he explained. "I accompanied them, and he offered me a chance to fly. I took him up on it. I'm afraid I did get somewhat carried away, but I had no intention of taking or endangering lives. I apologize."  
  
"Apology accepted, Vader. Simply exercise caution while flying from now on. Your bodyguards can inform you when you're beginning to take risks."  
  
Bodyguards? Luke cast an inquiring glare at Han. The smuggler shrugged and nodded at Mothma. Evidently she'd decided to put him to work if he was going to be using the Rebel base as a long-term pit stop. But what an unusual assignment for him.  
  
"Thank you, my lady." Vader sat back down.  
  
"Which brings me to the second matter," she went on. "Han and Chewbacca, you have observed Vader's piloting?"  
  
Chewie growled assent.  
  
"Guess you can say that," Han replied.  
  
"And what would you say his skill level is?"  
  
Han grinned. "Expert."  
  
"Thank you." She turned to Ghede. "I believe I have found you a new pilot for Life Squadron."  
  
She might as well have reached into Luke's abdomen and squeezed his stomach in a death grip. She wouldn't assign Vader to their squadron! She couldn't!  
  
Ghede seemed to echo his sentiment. "Absolutely not!"  
  
"You requested me to keep an eye out for older, more mature pilots," she countered. "I believe Vader fits those requirements. And he has considerable talent..."  
  
"I refuse to allow his enlistment," Ghede replied harshly. "I have that right, I'm sure you're aware."  
  
"And I have the right to override your refusal," Mothma replied, an uncharacteristic iron edge to her voice.  
  
Ghede and Mothma glared at each other, two stubborn souls vowing to go down fighting. Vader somehow managed to look quite sheepish through his mask and glanced around the room as if searching for a hiding place. Han and Chewie, to Luke's amazement, seemed angry at Ghede's unwillingness.  
  
"Vader is dangerous," Ghede insisted.  
  
"I am not," Vader retorted vehemently. "My days as an Imperial are behind me."  
  
"That's not what I meant," Ghede told him. "You are reckless and take ridiculous risks in your flying. You would put the squadron in unnecessary danger if you ever flew with us in combat."  
  
"One leisure flight is hardly enough to judge his entire flight career," Mothma replied.  
  
"I didn't see him taking any ridiculous risks during the Death Star battle," Han pointed out.  
  
"Perhaps we should ask the man," Mothma suggested. "Vader, would you be willing to join Life Squadron?"  
  
"I would..." he began.  
  
"As long as I'm Commander, he'll not join!" Ghede insisted.  
  
Chewie bellowed.  
  
"Boy, you said it, Chewie," Han replied, clearly incensed. "The best pilot to join the Alliance since Luke and no one wants him."  
  
Luke had had enough. He stood.  
  
"If Vader joins Life Squadron, I quit."  
  
Five pairs of shocked eyes turned to regard him.  
  
"Skywalker, I wouldn't be so rash..." Mothma began.  
  
"I refuse to serve alongside the man who killed my father!"  
  
Vader recoiled, stunned. "I what?"  
  
Luke lost all composure. The emotions he'd been holding in for days came exploding forth. "My father was Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi Knight. You betrayed and murdered him! You may not remember doing the deed, but it doesn't change the fact that you did it!"  
  
Vader stared at him a long time. "Then why did you save me?" he asked quietly.  
  
The question caught him off guard. "I... don't know..." He turned and stormed out of the office. Han called his name once, but he ignored him.  
  
Wedge had been waiting just outside the office for him, and he started to ask how things had gone. He brushed by him and continued on his way. Wedge, too, shouted for him to wait up, but when Luke didn't answer the pilot simply let him go.  
  
He swiftly made his way to the main hangar, brushing past startled passerby, head down so he wouldn't have to look anyone in the face. When he reached his X-wing he hopped into the pilot seat, strapped himself in, and lowered the canopy. He'd fly his frustration off. Maybe he'd blast a few trees, too, and imagine they were TIE fighters. Anything to take his mind off of having Vader foisted onto Life Squadron.  
  
But once in the semi-privacy of his fighter, his emotions got the better of him. Instead of starting the X-wing up, he simply slumped over the controls and wept bitterly, his grief hot and fresh as all that he had learned or that had happened since intercepting Leia's message caught up with him.  
  
***  
  
"Mechanic's quarters," said Han, opening the door to Vader's room. "Not much, but it's home."  
  
It took Vader's holographically-enhanced eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light in the chamber. It was rather cramped, with a repulsorbed, a cracked unframed mirror, and a tarnished durasteel trunk the only furnishings. The walls were smudged with engine grease, and the last mechanic to inhabit this domicile had evidently had a spice problem judging from the unpleasant smell.  
  
He gave a mental sigh and tossed the bag of tools -- a gift from Dr. Forenze -- onto the bed. "I can't believe they denied me a place in the squadron."  
  
"Well, it's gonna take some time for Ghede and the kid to realize you're harmless," Han replied, leaning against the door frame. "And sooner or later Mothma'll pull some strings to get you in."  
  
"Why is she bothering? I'm an Imperial cyborg whose memory is shot to chaos and has a murder record fit to short-circuit the central computers. Why does she want me in the Alliance so badly?"  
  
Han only shrugged.  
  
"At least I can count you and Chewbacca among my friends," Vader told him. "My only friends, apart from Forenze."  
  
Chewie gave a little growl and placed a massive paw on his shoulder.  
  
"Chewie says to cheer up," Han replied. "And I agree. Complaining isn't going to do you any good."  
  
Vader smiled a little. "You're correct, Han. Thank you."  
  
Han managed to fit a "you're welcome" around a massive yawn.  
  
"Go to bed, Han. We'll need our rest if we're going to do something about that bucket of bolts of yours."  
  
"G'night," Han mumbled as he and Chewie left.  
  
Vader sat down on the bed, lost in his thoughts. What a day. Not only was he the most controversial member of the Rebel Alliance, but it turned out that the man who had saved his life and was the only link to his past was the son of one of his victims! Fate had a cruel and twisted sense of humor.  
  
The decision to bar him from Life Squadron pained him -- he would have enjoyed flying one of the Rebellion's nimble, versatile X-wings -- but he realized it was necessary for now. It would be difficult to serve in the squadron when its two commanding officers hated him so fiercely. But he could have tolerated Ghede's displeasure; it was Luke's hatred he wanted so desperately to work around.  
  
/The boy is an enigma/ he mused. /He hates me, but he also feels so strangely familiar. I know that name, Skywalker, and not just as a murder victim./  
  
He closed his eyes, withdrawing to that quiet center. A few flashes of memory resurfaced, but he wasn't able to grasp anything significant. A podrace, a saber duel, the stunningly beautiful woman who occasionally haunted his more bittersweet memories...  
  
"Owen," he breathed. "Owen Lars." That was the round-faced young man he had remembered. A relative of some sort, perhaps a cousin or stepbrother. He wasn't exactly sure, but perhaps the name was a link to other, more pertinent memories.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at the mirror. Anger welled up in him at the sight of that grotesque ebony mask scowling back at him. He hated that face, hated the fact that it branded him as a war criminal to all who looked upon him. Stranded among enemies, bereft of his memory, but constantly wearing a hideous reminder of his past... and the worst part was that there was nothing he could do to undo what he had done.  
  
/Probably not, but you can work to improve your image./  
  
Vader whirled but saw no one. That had come from inside this room!  
  
/Relax. I'm an old friend./ The voice was clear and kind, suspiciously familiar, but not audible. It was as if it were being inserted into his mind by a mysterious power.  
  
/By the Force/ the voice continued. /You once had an impressive command of it, but your training was obliterated along with your memory. Someday you will have to be retrained./  
  
/Are you the Force?/  
  
/No, but I am one with it. I am an old friend of yours. I am Obi-wan Kenobi./  
  
He shook his head. /I'm sorry, Obi-wan. I don't remember you./  
  
/Does this help?/ And an image was called forth -- a thirty-something bearded man wearing simple light brown robes, with golden-brown hair and intensely inquiring eyes.  
  
/Somewhat./ He strained to recall. /Yes, I remember something. It was in a nightclub. We were searching for something. You said "Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?"/  
  
A pang of regret. /A macabre joke that I wish I had never uttered./  
  
/I killed you too? Is there no life in this galaxy I haven't tainted?/  
  
/Calm yourself, young one. You were not the man you are now. Before your accident you were a creature of fury and darkness. You are not that being now./  
  
/No. I'm a burden now. A bag of refuse that keeps getting passed around the base. Without my memory, I'm useless to the Empire and only a liability to the Rebellion./  
  
A mental chuckle. /Don't think of yourself as having lost something, young one. Rather, think of yourself as having been scrubbed clean. You have the opportunity to begin again, start anew, without the memories of your former life to complicate you. Few people have this chance. Make the most of it./  
  
He nodded. /Yes. I have been looking at it wrong. You're right, Obi-wan. I should concentrate on building a new life and not regaining an old one I'd rather discard anyway. But where do I begin?/  
  
/Where do you think?/  
  
He touched his face. /My mask. It's the most painful reminder of my past. I want it removed. But how.../ He stood and left his quarters.  
  
Forenze looked up from her computer as Vader walked into the med center. The pale glow from the screen illuminated her face in a ghostly light. "Problem?"  
  
"Can you upgrade my life-support?"  
  
"What, tonight?"  
  
"As soon as possible."  
  
"Whoa, kill the thrusters, pal. What's the rush?"  
  
"I hate this mask," he replied, kicking a stray scrap of metal across the med center floor. "I hate the baggage it drags into my life. I hate being seen as a murderer wherever I go. I want to be rid of it once and for all."  
  
She nodded. "I see your point. You do understand it'll take several operations to give you a complete overhaul, and they'll all be painful."  
  
"I'm willing to endure it."  
  
She looked about to say something but thought better of it. "Can't promise you top of the line, but I'll do what I can with what the Alliance has. I'd like to start with the pacemaker, since whatever we have on hand'll be better than what you've got now." She sighed as she stood. "Go lay down. The droids'll prep you. You're in for a rough night, friend."  
  
***  
  
Palpatine betrayed no emotion as he reclined on his throne, listening to his spy's report. Indeed, he felt little emotion at the news. Never mind that the Death Star, the crown jewel of the Imperial Navy, had been destroyed days after her maiden voyage. Never mind that it was his fool apprentice's until-now-anonymous son that had dealt the fatal blow. Never mind that said apprentice had managed to botch his latest mission and was now an amnesiac in the hands of the Alliance.   
  
Such matters were trivial. He had bigger mynocks to vaporize.  
  
There was silence from the holo before him. The Emperor's Yavin agent didn't know that much of the report was old news to the monarch. He had felt Skywalker's attack on the Death Star and its subsequent explosion through the Force. When Vader's presence had abruptly snuffed out, he'd attributed it to the Dark Lord's death. Discovering that he was very much alive, if without his memory, had been a surprise, but in the end it made little difference.   
  
At any rate, he had to find himself yet another protege. He snorted in irritation. First Maul, then Tyranus, then Vader... was Sidious going to go down in the Sith Archives as the Master with the most failed apprentices in the history of the Order?  
  
"Continue to update me on further plans of the Alliance," he told his spy. "Especially anything that pertains to either Vader or Skywalker. And keep an especially close watch on Skywalker."  
  
"Your Highness?" came the reply. "What of the Rebel base?"  
  
"From what you have told me, it doesn't sound like the Rebels are in any hurry to leave Yavin," he replied. "Once I have found a suitable replacement for Lord Vader, I will send him or her to lead an all-out strike on the Massassi temple. They will be no match for us."  
  
"Yes, you're Highness." The holo winked out. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
"Luke?"  
  
Someone was insistently shaking him awake, jostling him out of an enjoyable, peaceful darkness. He groaned and opened sleep-gummed eyelids. As he sat up, odd pains in his limbs and back made him wince. The cockpit of an X-wing fighter was not a comfortable place to fall asleep.  
  
"Have you been here all night?" asked Bekme.  
  
"Must've fallen asleep," he groaned, pulling off his helmet to rub his eyes. "I guess Ghede isn't too happy that I disappeared, is he?"  
  
"Is he ever happy?" she snorted. "He's going on and on about your immaturity and the stupidity of every higher-upper in the Alliance. I swear, he's worse than a sando aqua monster with heartburn."  
  
"Well, he can eat engine exhaust for all I care," Luke replied, climbing out of the cockpit with a grunt.  
  
"You really don't like him, do you?"  
  
"Does anyone?"  
  
"Probably not. Hobbie and Squib were discussing the possibility of getting away with treating his X-wing controls with engine grease."  
  
"More power to them if they can pull it off. Aside from Vader, Ghede's the one person here I can't stand."  
  
"I hate Ghede a lot more than I hate Vader. At least Vader isn't bossing everyone around, acting like a snob, and giving KP duty to anyone who breathes out of turn."  
  
"Vader didn't kill your father, either."  
  
Her eyes went wide. "He killed your father?"  
  
Luke nodded. "Betrayed and murdered him. He was a Jedi Knight. I never had a chance to meet him."  
  
She shook her head. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."  
  
"Not your fault."  
  
A bulky freight transport backed into the hangar, directed by three bored-looking technicians of various species. The two pilots watched as the transport noisily deposited its load in a heap at the far side of the hangar. Metallic-tasting dust filled the air as the clatter of metal faded.  
  
"What, did we buy a junkyard?" asked Bekme.  
  
"It's a donation from a parts dealer on Nar Shadda, I hear," Luke replied. "He gave us all the stuff he can't sell in hopes that we can use some of it."  
  
"The mechanics are going to have a job sorting anything useful out of that mess," Bekme noted.  
  
"Yeah, well, I hope a certain mechanic cuts himself on a corroded spanner and contracts tetanus."  
  
"Luke!"  
  
"You know who I'm referring to."  
  
"That's still not something to joke about. He's a member of the Alliance now."  
  
"I thought you said you couldn't picture him fighting on our side."  
  
"Well, he IS fighting on our side. And he doesn't even remember killing your father."  
  
"So I'm supposed to act like it never happened?"  
  
"Don't get all defensive. I was just trying to..."  
  
"Bekme," he interrupted. "Look, I'm sorry. I just got carried away." He strained to find the appropriate words. "I just... wish I knew my father. The way you know your father. Not just as a name or a handed-down lightsaber or a few stories, but as a person, a guiding figure."  
  
She smiled. "It's okay, Luke. I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble. Mothma won't be happy to find any member of the Alliance, even Vader, shot in the back."  
  
He sighed. "It's just so hard to forget who he was and accept who he is now."  
  
"We'll all just have to try a little harder, then," she pointed out, and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders, and they stared out of the open hangar doors into the thick jungle surrounding the base. Together they knew a moment of peace and serenity, a rarity in the Alliance's daily business.  
  
Ghede had to end it, naturally.  
  
"I thought we talked about you chattering with the pilots of Life Squadron, Skywalker," Ghede said sternly, stepping up beside Luke. "And it appears we must discuss your unexcused absence as well..."  
  
"Give me a break," Luke griped. "I fell asleep. And the Life Squadron pilots are my friends. I have every right to talk to them."  
  
"Just as I have every right to discipline you for insubordination and truancy?" Ghede demanded, eyebrow arced.  
  
"Okay, what is it? KP for a week? Not that I care..."  
  
"Not KP." He gave a sly smile and glanced at Luke's X-wing. "I think having you and your fighter grounded for the next two weeks will be sufficient to cool that regrettably hot temper of yours."  
  
Luke was too stunned to reply, but inside he was fuming. That was totally unfair!  
  
"And I've just been informed that our newest mechanic is recovering from major surgery this morning. Thus, you shall take his place and aid ground crew in sorting the usable components from the junkyard we now have in the main hangar."  
  
"Commander, that's harassment and you know it!" Bekme declared.  
  
"And KP duty for you, Olie, for backtalking an officer," he retorted, ruby eyes narrowed. "Another flippant or tactless remark, and you'll be assigned the same chore as Skywalker."  
  
"In that case," Bekme replied crisply, "I'll just call you a stuck-up tyrannical nerf herder and report directly to the mechanics."  
  
"As you wish." Ghede spun on his heel and marched off.  
  
Luke turned to Bekme. "You didn't have to do that."  
  
"I know," she replied. "But it was purely selfish. I hate working in the kitchens. The sanitizing agents dry out my hands something awful. Besides, misery loves company."  
  
He laughed. Truth be told, he didn't mind Bekme hanging around.  
  
"Let's go get some gloves on," he suggested.  
  
***  
  
"And how are we this morning, Vader?"  
  
Vader replied to Forenze's sarcastic, oozingly-sweet voice with an unintelligible groan.  
  
"Sorry, didn't catch that."  
  
He opened his eyes a crack, regretting it instantly. The bright lights of the med center felt like daggers in his eye sockets.  
  
"I feel like I've been hit over the head, chewed up by a rancor, and spit out in the path of a bantha stampede," he complained.  
  
"Oh good," she replied cheerily, bending over his prone body to make an adjustment to a monitor. "Means your nervous system's shaking off the drugs and kicking in on schedule. Want a painkiller?"  
  
"No thanks."  
  
Whatever had gone on when he'd been under anesthesia, it didn't seem to have helped any. If anything, he felt worse. His chest felt like it had been stepped on by a ronto, his head pulsed painfully, his legs and right arm tingled unbearably...  
  
Legs? Right arm? He shouldn't be able to feel those limbs. They were cybernetic. But he most definitely had sensation in every limb, even if it was only pins and needles. He flexed his fingers, puzzled.  
  
"What... exactly... did you do, Dr. Forenze?"  
  
"To make a long story short, I replaced your prehistoric pacemaker with something more up-to-date -- had to break some ribs to do it, which accounts for your chest pain -- and tidied up the worst of your scarring. The droids replaced your obsolete droid arm and legs with the newer bionic prosthetics. They're much more lifelike and even restore most of your sensation."  
  
That explained it. He wanted to pull off his glove and look at the new limb, but when he raised his arm Forenze pushed it back down.  
  
"You need rest," she ordered. "You've just undergone major surgery. You'll stay in that bed if I have to drug you into insensibility to do it."  
  
"Did anyone ever tell you you're stubborn, Doctor?"  
  
"Did anyone ever tell YOU you're difficult, Darth?"  
  
He laughed. "What else needs done?"  
  
"What doesn't? Your new pacemaker just makes the rest of your body look like a museum. Next operation will be to your digestive system. That's a real mess, I can tell you."  
  
"What of my mask?"  
  
She sighed in frustration. "The part of your armor you want to be rid of most, and it's the one thing I can't do a blasted thing about."  
  
He stared at her. "You're joking."  
  
"I don't joke about medical matters. I'm sorry, but your lungs are in terrible shape. And with their delicate condition and all the other hardware in your body, I don't dare risk a transplant. The other option is to administer drugs and transfusions that will stimulate the cells in your lungs and help them replace the damaged tissues, but those drugs and the equipment to use them were destroyed when we fled Dantooine. And thus far obtaining more has been low on the Alliance's priority list, seeing as they're very expensive."  
  
Vader hissed an expletive. "I'm stuck with this cursed mask? I may as well wear a sign that says 'Shoot me!'"  
  
"Oh, quit your whining," Forenze snapped. "You're almost as bad as Skywalker. I can't get rid of the mask at the moment, so deal with it."   
  
"Forgive me, Forenze. I just had such hopes..."  
  
"Keep hoping, friend," she replied. "Hope is the fuel that keeps the Alliance's fire burning." She moaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. "I'm going to lay down awhile. Between your surgery and the fraggin' Whitesun and Drake boys who think it's a thrill to goof off with blasters, it's been a long night. Call the droids if you need something."  
  
"Sweet dreams," he told her as she left the med center.  
  
When he was sure she was out of earshot, he reached over and disconnected the monitors, then gingerly got to his feet. His legs trembled a moment, threatening to buckle beneath him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. When he was sure he could trust his legs to support him, he slowly made his way out of the med center, wincing at the pain in his cracked ribs.  
  
He knew Forenze was going to hit the roof when she learned that her uncooperative patient was wandering the halls, and he smiled at the thought. But something was urging him forward, something he couldn't put words to. What was he seeking and why? He wasn't sure, but he trusted this feeling, and somehow he knew it wouldn't lead him astray.  
  
***  
  
"Apparently the Alliance's motto is 'never refuse anything free,'" Luke quipped, tossing a crushed protocol droid's head into the "discard" bin. "Even if ninety percent of it goes straight to the trash compactors."  
  
"But it's that leftover ten percent that can benefit us." Bekme lifted an almost-new cooling unit. "This can keep a starfighter running a while longer."  
  
"And this makes a great beep-ball paddle," Luke said with a mischievous grin, holding up a paddle-shaped scrap of metal.  
  
"That's a fuel-port cover, you goofball," she shot back, playfully throwing a rubber insulating ring at him. He batted it back at her with the paddle, laughing.  
  
The first few minutes into the project, Luke had been irritated by Ghede's punishment, but now he was actually having fun. It was like a treasure hunt, digging through the flotsam to find those precious workable components that could so aid the Alliance. And often the two of them would joke about the odder pieces they found, either parts of more exotic ships and droids or simply components that had been rather... creatively repaired.  
  
Bekme paused a moment to wipe her forehead with the back of a gloved hand. Her brown hair hung in tangles, and sweat tinged red-brown with dust and rust darkened her skin. Luke was sure he wasn't exactly immaculate himself, but at least Bekme didn't look any less attractive when dirty.  
  
"So why did you become a pilot, Bekme?" he asked.  
  
"I thought Ghede didn't want you talking to the pilots," she kidded.  
  
"I don't care what Ghede wants. I'm not subscribing to his methods."  
  
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug as she worked. "I like to fly. When I was little my father let me borrow... oops." She looked at him sheepishly.  
  
"Don't worry, you can talk about fathers around me," he assured her.  
  
"Anyway, he let me borrow the family speeder sometimes and drive around the big fields surrounding Theed. I couldn't crash or get hurt out there, and it was good practice. But if he found I was chasing animals or going where a police officer might see me, I lost flying privileges. Once I ran over a baby kaadu, and he grounded me for three months when he found out. I was very upset at the time, but looking back, I know I deserved it."  
  
Luke nodded. "I used to get in trouble for taking my skyhopper through Beggar's Canyon to bulls-eye womp rats."  
  
"Beggar's Canyon?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a big canyon just outside my hometown of Anchorhead. Uncle Owen told me they used to have podraces there."  
  
"I've heard of podraces. Illegal, aren't they?"  
  
"Yeah, but Tatooine's pretty lawless."  
  
She tossed a melted-down repulsor coil in the junk bin. "You and I seem to come from opposite worlds. Me from lush, orderly, Imperial-governed Naboo, and you from harsh, rugged, lawless Tatooine."  
  
"But we're connected through the Alliance," Luke pointed out. "And our love of flying."  
  
"That's so true," she replied. "I always wanted to fly Naboo's N-1 starfighters. They were so beautiful and fast! But the Empire forced Bravo Squadron into retirement when I was nine, and most of the fighters were melted down. It's said that an intact N-1 starfighter is worth hundreds of thousands of credits."  
  
"The Empire didn't want their TIEs being outshone, eh?" Luke asked, reaching down to pick up a tapered rod. "Ungh! Feels like this thing's connected to something heavy."  
  
"Let's try digging it out," Bekme suggested.  
  
They set to work, chucking parts aside with gusto. It soon became apparent that this "rod" was attached to something much larger.  
  
"Oh stars," Bekme breathed, brushing aside assorted bits of metal. "Is this what I think it is?"  
  
"It's some kind of starship," Luke noted, kicking a corroded alluvial damper off the fighter's bow.  
  
"Some kind of starship? Luke, this is the N-1 starfighter of Naboo!"  
  
"Get out of here!"  
  
"No joke!"  
  
Luke marveled at their find. The ship was terribly battered -- its domed canopy was badly cracked, its plating riddled with dents, and only a few chips of faded yellow paint clung to the hull for dear life. But the sweeping, elegant forked body indicated it had once been an incredibly agile and swift machine.  
  
"There are only seven of these left," she went on, reverently stroking the dulled chrome finish on the bow. "Four are in museums, two are in private collections, and the last was in a Corellian museum but was stolen years ago. This must be the missing ship!"  
  
"I wonder if it still runs," Luke mused.  
  
Bekme glanced up sharply. "Oh no. Luke..."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Three guesses who's coming."  
  
"Ghede?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Stang! How quick can I hide?"  
  
"Not quick enough. He's spotted us."  
  
Vader approached the junk heap, limping slightly as if in pain. Bekme swallowed but otherwise showed no emotion. Luke tried to keep his cool as he continued to sort components.  
  
"Skywalker?" asked Vader.  
  
"His name's Luke," Bekme told him.  
  
"Ah yes. Luke Skywalker. And you are...?" He inclined his helmet toward her.  
  
"B-Bekme," she answered, stumbling slightly over the name as she tried to keep calm. "Bekme Olie."  
  
"You need not fear me, Bekme," he assured her. "But if my presence bothers you, you may leave. I need to talk to Luke."  
  
She shot Luke a concerned look.  
  
"Oh, go," Luke ordered. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"If you're sure..." she replied, then quickly left.  
  
Luke pointedly ignored the Dark Lord as he tossed aside a rusted power converter. Vader didn't seem to take the hint, though, because he only climbed up the mountain of junk to stand by Luke's side.  
  
"I thought you would be flying with Life Squadron," he noted.  
  
"Grounded for insubordination," he mumbled bluntly, not even looking up.  
  
"I see. Commander Ironmoon seems to be a strict man. I pity your squadron."  
  
"You dragged yourself out here to discuss Ghede?" Luke snapped.  
  
"No. I came to speak to you."  
  
Angrily Luke flung the dented spanner he'd been holding back into the pile, the harsh clatter ringing through the hangar. He whirled to face Vader, his cheeks flushed.  
  
"What do you want from me?! Why do you want to talk to me?! I told you what you did to me! Do you honestly think I want anything to do with you after you killed my father and Ben Kenobi?!"  
  
He regretted the outburst immediately. Vader engaged in an intense study of his boots, obviously stung by the words. "I apologize for your loss, Luke. I do not remember your father, but I would like to think he died honorably."  
  
"I'm sure he did," Luke replied. /More honorably than you've ever acted/ he wanted to add, but he bit his tongue.  
  
"Luke, I am no longer the man I was. I have no recollection of my actions before you rescued me. Please, can you not simply see me as a stranger rather than an old enemy?"  
  
He shook his head. "I've thought of you as an enemy for too long to change my mind in an instant."  
  
"I understand. I don't expect anyone to accept me right away. But I would appreciate a little tolerance."  
  
"It's hard to tolerate a mass murderer," he retorted a little more tartly than he meant.  
  
"What do you expect me to do?" Vader demanded. "I cannot resurrect your father! I cannot go back in time and undo all I have done! What is it you want from me?"  
  
Luke looked away. "My father."  
  
"Luke, your father is dead. I haven't the power to bring him back..."  
  
"No." He turned back to Vader. "I want a face to associate with my father. I want to know what kind of man he was. I've been told he was a pilot and a Jedi, but that's all I have to go on. I want to know more." He looked pleadingly at Vader. "Do you remember anything about Anakin Skywalker? Anything at all?"  
  
There was a long pause as Vader pondered. "No. Nothing."  
  
The lump in Luke's throat threatened to choke him. "I wish I knew something... anything..."  
  
"Luke, I'm so sorry..."  
  
He leaned against Vader's chest, sobbing.  
  
"Luke?" inquired Vader, shocked at this sudden change.  
  
"It just... hurts... not knowing..."  
  
"A feeling I know all too well, Luke."  
  
Luke continued to cry, his emotions in turmoil. Part of him continued to hate Vader for his role in the death of his father and Jedi Master. But another part of him reasoned that hating him was useless, that nothing could bring Ben and Anakin back and he may as well forgive the man.  
  
/He is repentant, Luke. At the very least, he deserves your forgiveness./  
  
/Do you forgive him, Ben?/  
  
/Of course. Death puts things in perspective. You come to realize that carrying a grudge is like carrying a pack of rocks -- it only wears you out and accomplishes nothing./  
  
/Would my father forgive him?/  
  
A thoughtful pause. /What do you think a true Jedi would do?/  
  
"I forgive you," Luke choked.  
  
"My thanks, Luke," he replied softly.  
  
Luke and Vader stood together a long time, Luke venting his grief, Vader's arms cradling him. He couldn't hate this man. He was no longer the murderer of his father, but a man simply wishing for a little understanding. And though it would take awhile for him to differentiate between the two, he would do it. He had little choice.  
  
"Guess I should go back to work," Luke said at last, pulling away.  
  
"Would you like some help?" Vader asked.  
  
"Sure. Help me with this?" He gestured to the starfighter.  
  
"That's a beautiful ship. If I could fix it up..."  
  
And a truce was granted as the two of them, with some help from a very reluctant ground crew, hauled the battered Nubian fighter out of the junk heap. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
Palpatine hated these sojourns into the Empire's prison system. It wasn't the oppressiveness of durasteel-reinforced concrete and blaster-proof doors; most Imperial government buildings were built that way anymore. Nor was it the sea of rage, terror, depression, bitterness, and despair that stormed through the entire facility; on the contrary, he fed on those feelings, drinking them in to fuel the dark side.  
  
It was the fact that it was the only place he frequented where he wasn't accorded the respect and obeisance an Emperor deserved.  
  
The criminal refuse that populated this high-security "correctional institution" on Raxus had no reason to respect the Emperor. Most of them were awaiting execution anyhow, so they reasoned that they could only be killed for one crime, be it murder, treason, or simply possessing a filthy mouth in the presence of the dictator. A rainbow of colorful insults and foul language trailed after Palpatine as his scarlet-robed guards escorted him down the cell-lined hall.  
  
He spared a seething Trandoshan a contemptuous glare as he passed. Small wonder these men, women, and aliens were sentenced to die. Those who refused to bow before him had no reason to exist.  
  
Which was why he was here in the first place. He needed a new apprentice to crush the upstart Alliance. He had carefully selected a likely prospect, but the man was stubborn, unwilling to join his cause. So he had kept him contained here these past two weeks, visiting him regularly to hammer away at his iron will. Though he remained adamant about keeping out of the war, his defenses were weakening, and Palpatine sensed that it would not be long before he had the man as an ally.  
  
He paused before a cell containing a terrified male human, cowering in a corner with his fists covering his face. With a tendril of the Force he judged the teenager's sensitivity. Strong, he observed, but unshaped. A waste of good midichlorians, but still…  
  
"Take him," he ordered.  
  
Two guards opened the barred door and stepped into the cell. The boy's eyes widened with horror.  
  
"No!" he screamed, thrashing against the grip of their hands. "Please! I didn't know she was a Rebel! She just asked for a ride and I gave her one! Please give me a break!"  
  
"Transporting a Rebel to the scene of a crime is serving as an accomplice to treason," Palpatine told him. "But in your case, I'll be generous. Instead of completing your sentence here…"  
  
The young man sagged in relief.  
  
"…you'll be taken to my palace on Corusant to serve an alternate punishment." He offered the prisoner a black-toothed grin. "I have plans for you, son."  
  
He screamed the whole way down the hall as the guards dragged him away.  
  
/Pathetic/ Palpatine decided. /But he may be useful./  
  
He walked on. He'd been collecting the Force-strong humans and humanoids among the prisoners these past two weeks. He would need them.  
  
At last he arrived at the maximum-security wing, indicated by the solid, barless doors. Here the most dangerous prisoners were consigned – murderers, rapists, crime barons, assassins, high-ranking Rebels, the very dregs of the underworld such beings inhabited. Dozens of guards and prisoners had met violent deaths in various skirmishes, tainting the halls with a dark-side energy that settled in one's bones. The fury, the terror, the rage contained here boiled and frothed in a volatile brew that poured through Palpatine as he examined the hall.  
  
He reveled in it.  
  
Striding up to the first meter-thick cell door, he keyed it open to reveal a snarling, three-meter mass of red-brown hair and hard muscle. The Wookie charged him, roaring. His guards brought their lances to bear, but Palpatine was quicker. Delving into the dark side, he released a single efficient jolt of lightning into the creature's heart. The beast collapsed, twitching.  
  
"Someone dispose of this," he ordered, turning his back on the corpse and strolling away. He'd known the Wookie hadn't been Force-strong, but he'd needed the diversion.  
  
At last he opened the cell door of the one he had come here for. The man was legendary, almost superhuman according to the stories. Cunning, cool, and focused, he would make an excellent protégé if he could only be convinced. So he'd sent a team of forty stormtroopers to capture the man while he transacted business on Ord Mantell. Only six survived the mission, but at least they had him.  
  
"Remain outside," he told his escort. The dark side would be more than enough to protect him here.  
  
The guards had prepared the prisoner for this meeting as they had for every meeting, cuffing him tightly to the wall and injecting him with mind-altering drugs to weaken his will. Despite his drugged state, however, he affixed Palaptine with a poisonous glare as he entered the cell, the door hissing shut behind him. The blue-black shading around his right eye and the rents in his prison-issue jumpsuit indicated that, though caged, he was still dangerous.  
  
"Not quite as threatening without your armor on, Boba Fett," the Emperor noted.  
  
The hunter snarled. "Die, hack."  
  
"I don't plan on dying for awhile," he replied. "And you aren't in much of a position to carry the threat out, my friend."  
  
"I told you before and I told you again," he hissed. "I'm not joining you."  
  
Palpatine had to force back a smile. There wasn't so much iron in Fett's voice now. His barriers were beginning to fail.  
  
But he would have to play the cards just so. Offers of money and power hadn't worked; Fett's services were famously expensive, so he had already secured a small fortune. And he was adamant about remaining neutral in the Galactic Civil War, so had no interest in being the Empire's second-highest leader. Threats wouldn't work, for he needed Fett to willingly join his cause. But Palpatine had a weapon Fett was unaware of – information on his past, thanks to Darth Tyranus' relationship with the Fett family.  
  
"I only ask that you reconsider the offer," Palpatine requested. "You are a being of honor, Fett. So are the Sith."  
  
Fett spat at his feet. "Good one. The Emperor's a stand-up comedian."  
  
"You don't believe me?" Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace back and forth across the cell. "Our Order has striven to cleanse the galaxy of the corruption and weakness of the Republic for generations. You lived during that Dark Age, Fett. You know how corrupt senators and rubber-spined politicians sickened the entire galaxy with their taint. We strove to change that, and in return we were banished to apocryphal tales and seen as a legendary, but extinct, evil."  
  
"Don't whitewash the Sith history, old man," Fett snapped. "The Sith started a coup that drenched the entire galaxy in blood before the uprising was put down."  
  
"And how was that uprising put down, my friend? By a massacre. Every Sith in the galaxy, save one, was destroyed – by the Jedi Order."  
  
At the mention of the Jedi, Fett took notice. A jolt of fury pierced his uncaring front and reached the Emperor. Good. He'd touched a nerve. The rollerfish was toying with the bait.  
  
"Ah yes, the mighty Jedi Order," he went on, shaking his head in disdain. "So quick to step in where the government faltered, so quick to offer their… services. Little by little they took advantage of the Republic, snatching scraps of power for themselves wherever they could. It wasn't long before they had the entire galaxy under their control, with puppet chancellors and an army of Knights to carry out their will. Taking the common people under their wing, they said – I see it as crushing them under their thumbs."  
  
Fett was seething now. Palpatine had to strain to keep his expression somber. The fish had taken the bait. Now for a tug to set the hook.  
  
"It was only natural for me to expunge the Order once I was able to wrest away their wrongfully acquired power. Otherwise we would still be serving their Order. But when I assumed that their disgusting cancer had been forever excised from the Empire, I assumed wrong. For a few Jedi still exist, influencing others to rise against me. If they succeed in overthrowing the Empire, a weak government will rule again, with the corruption of the Jedi at its helm."  
  
His glowing orange eyes met Fett's space-black gaze. "Can you imagine the atrocities that would continue to perpetuate were these power-hungry, soulless, baby-snatching fanatics to retake the galaxy? Can you imagine the murders, the kidnappings, the shattered lives, the widows and orphans left to fend for themselves?"  
  
Fett shook with barely contained rage. Good. He had issues with the Jedi Order. Time to reel the man in with a final goad.  
  
"The Jedi rarely thought about the consequences before using their lightsabers," he continued. "Especially a Jedi named Mace Windu."  
  
Fett exploded, uttering a primal howl of rage.  
  
"Problem?" he asked innocently.  
  
"My father! My father!" Fett screamed, veins standing out on his forehead. "Mace Windu killed my father!"  
  
Palpatine pursed his lips to kill a gleeful smile.  
  
"He'd done nothing but made a business deal!" Fett ranted. "A DNA sample in exchange for salary and a son! Is that such a crime?! And the Jedi punished him for that by slicing a laser blade through his neck! While – I – watched!"  
  
Abruptly he wilted, hanging limply from the restraints, choking on his remembered grief and anger. Palpatine watched, keeping his face expressionless. Fett couldn't know how well he'd played into the Emperor's hands. The fish was in the boat now, ready for cleaning.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I didn't realize how personal this was for you. My condolences for your loss."  
  
"The Jedi," Fett snarled. "I hate them!"  
  
"And you have every right to, my friend. They could be quite cruel." He extended a beckoning hand. "But you can put your hatred to good use, Boba Fett. Rather than let it eat at you like a cancer, you can use it as a weapon of justice to cut down the last of the Jedi before they have a chance to rise again. You can ensure that no child will ever have to go through what you have been through – watching their father die a violent death."  
  
Fett took a deep breath. "How?"  
  
"Join me." Both hands were extended now, like a parent offering to lift a small child. "Learn the arts of subterfuge, manipulation, mind powers, telekinesis, all the Force's dark side has to offer. Combined with your natural intelligence, ferocity, and athleticism, they would make you an unstoppable engine of destruction."  
  
The hunter's brow furrowed. "I have the Force?"  
  
"No, you were not born with that gift. But I can bestow it upon you."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.  
  
"It can be a risky procedure," he warned. "Part of your blood will be drained, then replaced with a transfusion of blood high in midichlorians. The transfusions will have to continue until your body begins producing them on its own, or for the rest of your life if your body is unable to create its own midichlorians. But the operation will give you the ability to touch and manipulate the Force."  
  
Fett nodded. "A worthwhile risk. But the Jedi are either dead or in hiding. How will you obtain a donor?"  
  
"We have all the donors we need," Palpatine explained. "People are still born with high midichlorian counts, Fett, and I have collected a few likely prospects. We will have to narrow the field down to those of your blood type, of course. But that's a minor concern." He fixed Fett with an expectant stare. "Time for you to make a decision, my friend. Are you willing to become my apprentice?"  
  
"Yes," Fett replied without hesitation.  
  
"Lesson one," he told the hunter. "I am your Master from this moment on. You will address me as such."  
  
"Yes, my master."  
  
With a casual wave of a wizened hand, Fett's restraints popped open.  
  
"I'll have your armor returned to you. Follow me, my young apprentice. Your training begins now."  
  
***  
  
Vader's head came up sharply as he was bent over the N-1 starfighter's engine. A cold shiver rippled up his spine, and a nameless apprehension gripped him.  
  
"Hey, you okay?" asked Han, looking down from the top of the Falcon. "Cut yourself?"  
  
He shook his head. "No. I… thought I heard something."  
  
"Probably Life Squadron whining about Ghede again," Han grumbled. "Chewie, get me an alluvial damper!"  
  
Vader wasn't so sure. That feeling had come out of nowhere, yet it seemed so important. Something was seriously wrong, as if a dark power had just gained an ally. Yet he also sensed that there was little he could do about it.  
  
His mood lightened a bit as he turned his attention to his ship. Despite Bekme's insistence that the fighter was a rare find, ground crew had written it off as a lost cause. When Vader had expressed interest in it, he'd been told he could keep it if he could get it off the ground. They were positive that it couldn't be repaired. Well, he'd prove them wrong.  
  
"Han, spare a power coupling?"  
  
He tossed the part down. "She looks good, Darth. What're you calling her again?"  
  
"Desert Angel," he replied.  
  
"Pretty, but not exactly masculine," Han teased.  
  
"My early-youth memories seem to center around a desert world," Vader explained. "As for the angel part… I remember a woman, a beautiful woman. An angel." He stared off in the distance, wistful. "I wonder if she was my love."  
  
"Are you gonna daydream about angels all day or install the coupling?"  
  
"Bite me, Han."  
  
Chewie roared.  
  
"No, I didn't mean it literally, hairball," Vader shot back. By now he had picked up a basic understanding of the Wookie tongue.  
  
He had been here for two weeks now. The bulk of the Alliance had gone from flinching at the sight of him to simply ignoring him. Except Han, Chewie, and Forenze, of course. And Luke – the boy had finally opened up to him. Though they weren't exactly friends, they had spoken on occasion, and Vader continued to feel an odd connection with him.  
  
He wiped grease from the back of his gauntlet onto the thigh of his dark green mechanic jumpsuit. Thanks to Forenze's medical expertise, he had finally been able to shed most of the armor. The newer cybernetic organs she had planted into his body could be examined and reprogrammed via remote control, eliminating the need for external hardware. He still wore the gauntlets and boots, though more for protective reasons than a show of power. And despite all Forenze's efforts to locate the needed supplies for his lung operation, his mask remained.  
  
Though he detested wearing the mask, he'd stopped fretting so much about it. He'd lived this long with it. He could be patient.  
  
With a grunt of exertion he extracted a burnt-out circuit board from the console. He was almost finished restoring the Desert Angel. All that was needed now was a little work on the hyperdrive, a good polish, and a coat of paint. Too bad the Alliance didn't have the bold, attention-grabbing yellow the fighter had originally been. Perhaps a sky-blue or a slate-gray would work…  
  
…"Now this is podracing!"  
  
The fighter shrieked through a bristling forest of gun turrets, shafts of green fire blazing past. He put the ship into a spin, shouting excitedly all the while. This was fun! He'd always longed to fly a starship, and the experience more than met his expectations.  
  
A blast rocked the fighter, and it corkscrewed through an open hangar door. Skidding across the smooth durasteel floor and leaving a wake of sparks, it finally slid to a halt near the back. Several of the skeletal battle druids jogged toward him as he shrank lower into the seat, trying to hide.  
  
Artoo beeped frantically.  
  
"Everything's overheated!" he exclaimed, trying in vain to restart the engines. Clenching his jaw, he reined in his panic and tried one more time.  
  
The shields flared to life, and all systems went back online. With a whoop of relieved glee he began firing at the droids, then launched a pair of torpedoes for good measure. The resulting explosion was much bigger than he'd anticipated.  
  
"Oops!" He was sure he'd just blown up something important. Hurriedly he turned the starfighter around and screamed out of the exploding battleship, mowing down a battle droid in the process…  
  
The sudden flashback ended. Pensively he ran his finger along a deep groove in the chrome bow, made by some sort of high-speed impact. So that was how he knew so much about this old fighter. He'd flown one before.  
  
Bickering voices reached his ears, and he looked up to see Life Squadron standing in a cluster nearby, griping.  
  
"I get done with my two weeks and wham!" Luke exclaimed, smacking a fist into his palm for emphasis. "Another week slapped on for insubordination! All I did was ask him to ease up on the punishments or he'd bring down morale!"  
  
"Morale's already down to negative digits," complained Dekham.  
  
"Did you and Squib ever go through with sliming his X-wing?" Zev asked Hobbie.  
  
"I gave Squib the grease, but he chickened out," Hobbie replied.  
  
"Did not!" Squib protested, black eyes wide. "He caught me trying to open his X-wing cockpit and he sent me straight to the kitchens!"  
  
"I worked KP that night, Squib, and you weren't there," Janson pointed out.  
  
"Oh, stop picking on him," Mela ordered. "Ghede scares him, and how can you blame him? Man's getting more tyrannical by the day."  
  
"If the Emperor wore a flightsuit and held his breath a long time, I bet he'd look a lot like Ghede," Ar'ya snapped.  
  
Rocky roared with laughter. "Maybe they're cousins," his translator chimed.  
  
Vader shook his head. If Ghede was such a tyrant, why did they tolerate him? Why not put in a complaint to Mon Mothma? Or actually follow through with planned pranks? He stepped forward and pointed a spanner at them, adding his two bits.  
  
"Do you know what your problem is?"  
  
All eyes were on him. Belatedly he realized that most of Life Squadron still hated him, but there was no going back now.  
  
"Your problem," he went on, sweeping the spanner around to indicate he was addressing all of them, "is that you bitch and whine and complain about your stuffy commander, but you won't do anything about it. I understand that you all wish to vent your feelings, but if you want the problem solved it will take more than cross words to do it."  
  
"What're you saying, Vader?" asked Gavin suspiciously.  
  
"I'm telling you to either take action or shut up," he replied. "Some of us are getting tired of the whining."  
  
"I second that!" Han shouted, and Chewie backed him up with a whuff.  
  
"Take action?" repeated Bekme. "You're not suggesting…"  
  
"Not an assassination," Vader replied quickly. "I'm talking about subtle hints that he needs to get his act together. Hobbie and Squib had the right idea with the grease on his controls, but they needed to actually carry the plan out. Simply get the message across that he needs to lighten up. And if he doesn't, we'll have more surprises in store."  
  
Luke nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "I like that idea."  
  
"Why should we listen to him?" demanded Zev with a sour look. "He's probably planning to get us all in trouble."  
  
"Oh no," Vader replied. "No need to listen to me if you don't want to. I'm just the mechanic." He turned his attention back to the Angel.  
  
A sly smile came across Wedge's features. "He's right." He stepped beside Vader and placed a hand on his massive shoulder. "He's just the mechanic. What's more, he's the mechanic that none of the commanders like, and so they pretend he doesn't exist."  
  
Smiles blossomed on every pilot's face as they realized what he was saying.  
  
"So if Darth here were to aid our efforts to terrorize Ghede," he continued, "our loving commander will be none the wiser." He grinned at Vader. "Whaddaya say, pal?"  
  
Vader felt his mouth fall open. Pal? A Rebel had just called him a pal? How had these pilots' attitudes toward him changed so quickly? A mutual dislike, no doubt. They hated Ghede much more than they hated him. And they were quite willing to accept him as an unofficial comrade in order to annoy their commander as much as possible.  
  
An eager grin stretched across his mouth beneath the mask. "Where do you want me to start?"  
  
***  
  
And so it was that the entire Life Squadron was in the mess hall, in the presence of fifty witnesses, when Ghede's astromech mysteriously went on the blink. The R5 unit had been somehow reprogrammed to follow its master around for hours and repeatedly play the theme song from the Holonet's most annoying game show "Credit Fever."  
  
"I need this repaired," Ghede snapped at Vader as he dropped the ailing droid off at the mechanic's workstation. "I'm getting very tired of that song."  
  
"Yes, Commander."  
  
Ghede leaned forward threateningly and lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. "And stay away from my squadron, Vader. I'll not have anything distracting them from their prime duties. Least of all you." He stalked off.  
  
Vader snorted to himself. "His squadron," he muttered, deactivating the droid and opening its dome. "As if they're his personal entourage of servants and not soldiers."  
  
Well then, if it annoyed Ghede to have him fraternizing with "his" soldiers, he'd find Vader spending more time with them than ever.  
  
He fished around the box of music datacards Dekham had given him. So Ghede was tired of the "Credit Fever" theme. Maybe he'd enjoy a few tunes off of "Max Rebo's Greatest Hits." After all, he hadn't said to stop it from playing music entirely, had he? 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
As the weeks passed, Life Squadron came to enjoy Vader's company more and more, while Ghede became more and more uptight over the squadron's "immaturity."  
  
The Commander had finally wised up as to who had given his droid its newfound musical talent and fixed it himself. But when he went to his fighter later that day to lead Life Squadron in more drills, he discovered a pile of underbaked muri-cake on the seat – by sitting on it. And when he left the X-wing unattended to change his clothes, Hobbie snuck aboard it and festooned the interior with brightly colored paper streamers while the other pilots decorated the outside with refresher tissue.  
  
That stunt, naturally, got the entire squadron grounded for a week. And that punishment, naturally, earned Ghede more surprises. His laundry turned every color of the rainbow, snakes and other creepy-crawlies found their way into his bed and X-wing cockpit, his flight helmet kept disappearing only to reappear in the oddest places (like the top of the Blackstone temple tower), and his astromech was repainted, reprogrammed, and/or dismantled so many times it took to bolting with a panicked shriek anytime it saw someone in a pilot's or mechanic's uniform.  
  
Vader wasn't just the squadron's partner-in-crime, however. He was always willing to offer the pilots flying tips whenever they asked. They, in turn, exchanged gossip with him and invited him to their impromptu smashball or sabaac games.  
  
The down side to all this was that, with all the pranks going on, half of Life Squadron was grounded at any given time. That only made Ghede angrier, seeing as they couldn't drill as a team anymore. And Luke was growing concerned that the pilots were slipping behind in their training.  
  
Vader solved that problem as well. He raided the outdated equipment storage for infrared-vision goggles for every pilot, then suggested the squadron work on their flying at night, when Ghede and the rest of High Command were asleep.  
  
The plan worked beautifully. Life Squadron would spend their days catching up on sleep and plotting new ways to aggravate Ghede. After dusk, they climbed into their X-wings and took to the skies. Only the night sentries knew of this, and since they had no liking for Commander Ironmoon either, they kept silent on the matter. And whenever Vader had a free evening, he would "borrow" Ghede's starfighter and join the squadron.  
  
Luke was careful not to duplicate Ghede's tactics. Sure, he had them practice formations, but after going over the basic battle patterns they would play one of the combat games he and Bekme had devised together. Everyone agreed that rounds of Spy Pilot and Capture the Flag beat endless hours of Flying Dragon and Tight V any day.  
  
Vader, for the most part, enjoyed his unofficial welcome into the squadron. He felt that he could call these men and women friends and allies. It seemed he was finally an accepted member of the Alliance.  
  
But there was one factor he hadn't taken into account.  
  
Leia.  
  
***  
  
Leia watched Janson and Mela head for the hangar, laughing together over some private joke. She didn't share their light mood. She had seen Life Squadron grow more and more detached form the rest of the Alliance, and that frightened her. How could they count on these soldiers to defend the Yavin base in an emergency if they couldn't even count on them to be present at meals and other scheduled functions?  
  
Silently she cursed Commander Ironmoon. If he hadn't pushed the pilots so hard and treated them as immature inferiors, this wouldn't be happening. In his impossible quest to mold the squadron into the perfect fighting force, he was pushing them farther away from any desire to aid the Alliance.  
  
She hadn't had time to worry about Luke until now – Mothma kept her busy. She suspected Mothma was deliberately giving her extra assignments to take her mind off of the fact that Vader was among them. Now, however, she intended to have a talk with Luke. Perhaps he could think of some way to solve the problem.  
  
Toward the back of the hangar, the pilots were gathering for an impromptu sabaac game. Han and Chewie had joined them, as had…  
  
/Vader!/ She couldn't quell the surge of fresh anger and horror that rose out of her gut. What was he doing with the pilots? She stepped just behind a docked Y-wing fighter, where she could watch them interact without being seen.  
  
"I fold," Janson was saying.  
  
"Already?" asked Luke. "We just started."  
  
Janson pointed. "Whenever Ar'ya's head-tails start twitching like that, I know she's got a killer hand."  
  
Ar'ya's lekku stiffened immediately, and she stuck her tongue out at Janson. "Not fair!"  
  
"Whatever she's got, I'll bet it's not higher than a light sabaac," Han cut in, slapping down his cards.  
  
Squib groaned. "How come he always wins?"  
  
Chewie growled.  
  
"Wouldn't doubt it," Rocky put in via translator.  
  
"I do not cheat!" Han snapped.  
  
"Whether or not he cheated, he hasn't won this hand," Vader replied, laying down his cards. "Fitting for this group – idiot's array."  
  
Han punched his shoulder playfully as he leaned forward to collect his winnings.  
  
Leia shook her head in disbelief. How could they accept Vader so readily? Even Luke, who'd lost a father to him, was clapping him on the back and congratulating him. She couldn't see how they could treat him like a comrade.  
  
"Begging your pardon, your Highness."  
  
Leia stepped slightly to the side to let Ghede by. His flightsuit was a putrid, mottled green instead of its usual orange, and he wore his flight helmet strapped tightly to his head. He approached the table with an irritated expression.  
  
"Problem, sir?" asked Wedge innocently.  
  
"I would like to inform the lot of you," he announced angrily, "that unless the perpetrator of this latest juvenile stunt comes forward, the whole of this squadron will be grounded for the next two weeks."  
  
Two weeks? That was rather harsh. What had they done to warrant such a punishment?  
  
"What prank, sir?" inquired Gavin.  
  
"You know perfectly well what prank I'm referring to, Darklighter," Ghede snapped.  
  
"No I don't," Ghede defended.  
  
"And why are you wearing your helmet outside your X-wing?" asked Mela.  
  
Ghede swept the table with an annoyed glare, then pulled off the helmet. Immediately everyone, even Leia, burst into laughter. Someone had taken a razor to the Chiss' hair, carving out a wide strip from his left eyebrow to the right side of the nape of his neck. The rest of his hair had been dyed a blindingly bright shade of yellow.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Commander, that color looks good on you," Hobbie assured him.  
  
"KP for you, Hobbie, and two weeks on the ground for the rest of you!" bellowed Ghede. His crimson gaze came to rest on Vader, Han, and Chewie, who were all still snickering. "And I want you to stop consorting with these… rogues," he went on. "They're worthless freeloaders, the three of them." He spun on his heel and marched away.  
  
"Worthless freeloaders my eye," snorted Dekham. "Vader's a registered member of the Alliance. And if it weren't for Han saving Luke's skin at the Death Star, we'd all be space dust right now."  
  
"What's the big deal about them being rogues?" barked Rocky. "We're the Alliance. That makes everyone here a rogue."  
  
"Rogues," Luke repeated thoughtfully. "All rogues." His eyes lit up. "That's it!"  
  
"What's it?" asked Bekme.  
  
"My friends," he announced grandly, standing, "from this moment on we shall not call ourselves Life Squadron, but a name that truly fits us immature, freeloader-consorting rookies – Rogue Squadron!"  
  
Everyone cheered. "Rogue Squadron! Rogue Squadron!"  
  
"Beats Life Squadron any day," Bekme grinned.  
  
"The flying Rogues," Vader noted. "I like the sound of that." He stood. "Sorry to win and run, but I still need to upgrade the base's protocol droids today."  
  
"One more hand?" pleaded Ar'ya. "I'm sure I can beat you this time."  
  
"I'd like to quit while I still have money in my pocket," Vader explained. "I owe Forenze for the sleeping pills in Ghede's caf."  
  
"Stang!" Zev shouted, jumping to his feet. "That reminds me! I left the dye on my bunk!"  
  
"I'll get rid of it for you," Luke volunteered, getting up.  
  
As Vader turned toward the base's droid room, Luke headed for the barracks. When he passed Leia, she reached out and took his arm.  
  
"What now, Commander – oh, sorry Leia."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you and the squadron were becoming friendly toward him?" she asked, unable to completely keep the anger from her voice.  
  
"Leia…" he began, flustered. "Look, I've been busy… you've been busy… things have been happening…"  
  
"Like you just HAPPENING to forget that Vader's the Alliance's worst enemy?"  
  
"Was!" Luke defended. In a gentler tone he added, "He WAS an evil man, Leia. I won't deny it. Thousands died at his hand. But the Vader who hurt us is dead, or at least in a coma. This Vader only wants to help the Alliance, to do something to redeem himself."  
  
"He can never undo what he did to me," she insisted, tears coming to her eyes. The barely healed scars from her torture at Vader's hands and the death of Alderaan burned anew. She hated this man. She wished he would vanish entirely…  
  
"He can never undo what he did to me, either," Luke replied gently. "But a friend once told me that carrying a grudge is like carrying a pack of rocks. It only wears you out. I've decided to drop my load of rocks, Leia. Please, for your good as well as his, let go of yours."  
  
She recognized General Kenobi's quote, and she smiled despite herself. Luke had loved Obi-wan as a mentor, yet he'd forgiven Vader, who had murdered the Jedi before his very eyes. Though she couldn't understand entirely why Luke would choose to do that, she could see the wisdom behind Kenobi's quote. Yet it was so hard to simply let go like that…  
  
Her thoughts froze entirely when Vader stepped up beside Luke, holding a droid caller.  
  
"Is everything okay, Luke? I heard shouting…" His voice trailed off as he locked eyes with Leia.  
  
Panic began to rise in her. The last time she had looked into that steel-shrouded gaze, madness had nearly taken her. The pain, the shouting, the ragged mental agony as an unspeakable power invaded her mind…  
  
"Vader, this is Princess Leia," Luke explained.  
  
"A pleasure, your Highness…" began Vader, extending a hand.  
  
"Uh, no," Luke ordered, taking Vader's wrist and pushing his hand away. "There's something I need to tell you about her… Leia!"  
  
For Leia had gone, not daring to look back.  
  
***  
  
Vader listened attentively as Luke described Leia to him – his first sighting of her as a hologram, his and Han's impulsive rescue of her, her position in the Alliance, and above all the fact that she somehow held Vader accountable for her homeworld's destruction.  
  
"Though I don't see why," he said in conclusion. "From what she told me, Tarkin gave the order, not you."  
  
"Though I did torture her," Vader replied, shaking his head gravely. "I thought she looked familiar."  
  
"I'd just keep your distance for now. I think she'll eventually reach a point where she can forgive you, but not anytime soon."  
  
"That look of fright in her eyes," Vader said sadly. "I've seen that so many times since I've come here. Everyone here seems to have reason to hate me – and for crimes I can't even remember."  
  
"Don't let it get you down. If you keep serving the Alliance, soon they'll see you're not going to hurt anyone."  
  
"I wish I had your optimism."  
  
"Oh, cheer up, you grouch."  
  
***  
  
An error would mean death.  
  
Fett crouched in the center of the training room, one hand on his knee, the other on the floor. Before him, on either side, and behind him, four state-of-the-art dueling druids towered over him, each programmed to kill. Two of them – the one on his right and the one behind – had blasters built into each arm; the other two carried lightsabers. The scarlet light from their blades and photoreceptors glittered wickedly on their shiny durasteel bodies and Fett's battle armor.  
  
He smiled beneath his T-slit visor. This was his favorite part of his Sith training.  
  
As he waited for the first strike, a line from his master's lectures surfaced in his mind. /You need not see a threat to know it exists. Keep your sense open at all times./  
  
The droid on his left struck first, bringing its blade down toward his back like a cleaver. In less time than it took to blink, Fett had his own lightsaber out and behind him, blocking the blow. The droid before him swept its blade low, trying for his throat.  
  
/Your lightsaber and the Force are mighty weapons, but on occasion even they are not enough. Use all weapons at your disposal./  
  
Keeping his saber aloft with his right hand, he extended his left and used the Force to activate his flamethrower. Bright orange waves of fire caressed the droid's body, and it broke off its attack and backed away as its survival programming overrode its battle programming to avoid charred circuits.  
  
/If there are multiple foes, remember – a foe can also be a weapon for you to wield. Let one opponent's fatal strike bring down another enemy./  
  
The droid on his right fired several shots, and Fett extended his hand, drawing on the Force to block and redirect the bolts. The droid behind him collapsed, a crater carved in its chest by the laser fire.  
  
The left droid lifted its blade and assumed an offensive stance. Fett leaped to his feet to meet its second blow. Then the droid he had burned joined in the fray. Sparks and ozone filled the air, and pulses of scarlet light flashed through the chamber like blood-red lightning.  
  
At last, bored with the game, he took a Force-assisted leap in the air. The droids slashed futilely over their heads.  
  
/Unleash your anger. Channel it. Use it as a devastating weapon against your foe./  
  
Drawing on all his anger, all his pain, all his hatred, Fett landed with the force of a meteorite, the heels of his boots landing squarely in the photoreceptors of the burned droid. There was a metallic crunch as the blow shattered vital components, and it buckled. Before his boots could touch the floor he brought the saber around to catch the second droid. The crimson blade exploded through the droid at shoulder level, and fragmented metal and acrid smoke filled the air as it, too, hit the floor with a clatter of useless parts.  
  
The last droid pumped fire at him in earnest. His saber whirled in every direction as he knocked the bolts aside as casually as if they were beep-balls.  
  
/Don't disdain old tricks. They work./  
  
Fett extended a tentacle of the Force, grabbing the droid. Its limbs flailed as he jerked it toward him, and its photoreceptors went dark as he impaled it on his weapon. A Jedi might not fall for this trick, he thought, but then, not all the Alliance traitors were Jedi.  
  
At last he deactivated his weapon and looked around, his chest heaving with exertion. He hadn't slept in weeks. The first thing Palpatine had taught him was how to use the Force to compensate for sleep and food, that he might free up more time for intensive, grueling training in the dark side of the Force. Normally a Sith Master would spend years training an apprentice, but times were desperate, and a second Sith was needed as quickly as possible to eradicate the threat of the Rebellion before it could leave Yavin.  
  
Fett smiled savagely. It would be a pleasure to help the Emperor crush the Jedi. After they had betrayed and murdered his father, they deserved no mercy. And he would show them none.  
  
The air before him shimmered, and he fell to his knees as a holo of his master coalesced at the front of the room.  
  
"You have completed the lesson?"  
  
"Yes, my master."  
  
"Report to my quarters. You have much to learn yet, young one." 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
By the time Vader got to the last protocol droid, he was thoroughly ready to call it quits. Loading new language updates into over a hundred prissy, self-important droids wasn't his favorite job; it wasn't even in the top hundred. It probably ranked down at the bottom of his list, right there with being locked in a cell with a rabid gundark or serving as Ghede's wingman.  
  
He would much rather be working on the Desert Angel or sorting out the heap of jury-rigged scrap that was the Millennium Falcon. His fighter was tantalizingly close to being flight-ready. And the Falcon was always a welcome challenge, for Han always seemed to undo his repairs within hours. But the Alliance came first, and with the influx of new recruits of all species, they had to be sure the interpreter droids were up to speed.  
  
"Oh dear, I always hate this," the last droid worried, his very proper voice clashing with his anxious manner. "One never knows what's going to be removed or installed…"  
  
"Oh, be quiet," Vader ordered shortly, plugging a cable into a small port on the droid's neck. "Nothing's getting erased. I just need to examine your language databanks and make sure you have the languages we need."  
  
"Of course I know the languages the Alliance needs," the golden droid informed him somewhat stuffily. "I am fluent in over six million forms of communication…"  
  
Vader shook his head and hooked the cable to a hand-held readout screen. A list of languages appeared, and he called up a search program to locate those he'd been told were required. All protocol droids, even those that endured frequent memory wipes, had an uppity air about them. They could have distinctive personalities, of course – cheery or moody, irritable or placid, skittish or unflappable, even manic or suicidal – but he had yet to meet a shy or humble protocol droid.  
  
Bocche… check. Twi'leck… check. Huttese… three different dialects. Old Basic… variations from five galactic eras. Binary… check. Wookie… check. Sullustan… an archaic dialect that would require updating. Bothan… only half-uploaded, an error that he needed to correct.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know your number, would you?" he asked. The previous droid had developed a corruption in its memory banks, giving it the personality of an absent-minded professor.  
  
"I am C-3P0, human-cyborg relations…"  
  
Vader dropped the readout. "Threepio?"  
  
The droid's head jerked a bit in surprise. "Pardon me, sir, but… I don't believe we've met before."  
  
"Threepio," he repeated. "So long ago… no, it can't be…"  
  
"Uh, sir?"  
  
"When I was a boy," he explained, "I built a protocol droid. Its number was C-3P0. But I've no idea what happened to it."  
  
"Oh," Threepio replied. "Well, I can't verify your story, sir. I've had at least one memory wipe…"  
  
On impulse Vader grabbed Threepio's head.  
  
"Oh!" he yelped. "Don't hurt me! What did I do?!"  
  
"Hold still," he ordered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to remove your face plate."  
  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" the droid whimpered.  
  
Carefully Vader unlatched the facial covering and pulled it away. Two round amber photoreceptors stared back at him from a tangle of repeatedly repaired wires and aging circuits. The chipped Vocoder, the jury-rigged components, the sand still embedded deep in the mechanical workings even after so many years and countless oil baths…  
  
"My stars," he breathed. "It's you, Threepio."  
  
"Of course it's me!" huffed Threepio, indignant. "Who else would I be…" Then he realized what Vader had meant, and his voice fell somewhere between a resigned moan and a hysterical babble. "Darth Vader… my Maker… oh, my!"  
  
Vader grinned eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement at this incredible find. This droid was part of his past! And what wonders it could reveal to him! True, the memory wipe essentially meant he had amnesia as well, but most erasures merely removed the information from the droid's accessible memory and stored it in a blocked section of its databanks. If he could just bypass the block – and he was sure he could…  
  
But further consideration tempered his enthusiasm, and in a matter of minutes he'd dismissed the idea. Threepio was obviously already shaken from learning who his maker was. Further probing into his databanks would traumatize him even more. And he couldn't do that, even to a machine.  
  
He picked up the readout again and set it to upload Bothan and a more up-to-date dialect of Sullustan. A few more minutes, and he would be free to resume work on the Angel…  
  
Shouting reached his ears, and his head came up sharply. He could make out Luke's tenor… and Ghede's angry baritone. That meant trouble. And it sounded as if it was coming from the hallway leading into the hangar.  
  
Vader stood and headed toward the altercation, intent on defending his friend.  
  
"Wait!" shouted Threepio. "Aren't you going to put my face back on? Come back!"  
  
Night was falling rapidly on this hemisphere of Yavin IV, which meant another flight drill for Rogue Squadron. Luke couldn't suppress a boyish grin as he zipped up his flightsuit. If Ghede ever found out about their nocturnal jaunts, he'd suffer a brain hemorrhage. Which, of course, only increased the thrill.  
  
The rest of the squadron was busy preparing themselves and their fighters for tonight. Wedge and Dekham were arguing over who got the better astromech tonight. Mela was busy making preflight checks, being a cautious sort. Conversely, Zev was already strapped into his fighter, raring to go. Squib, ever the nervous one, was clutching a small diamond-shaped pendant he always wore for good luck. Everyone was almost ready, except…  
  
"Where's Bekme?" he asked.  
  
"Had to use the 'fresher," Ar'ya answered.  
  
"Had to go touch up her makeup, I bet," Dekham teased.  
  
"Shut up," Gavin told him. "You're just jealous of Luke."  
  
"Of me?" Luke stared at Gavin. "Why?"  
  
"Oh come on!" Wedge shouted, looking down from lowering a piece-of-junk R4 unit into his X-wing. "Everyone knows you two are an item. Every time you get KP, she gets herself into trouble so she can serve KP with you. You talk after meals. You plan the flight drills together. What else can you be besides an item?"  
  
"Friends," Luke replied firmly.  
  
"Translation: they just haven't kissed yet," Janson remarked.  
  
Luke felt his face go hot. "Even if we were an item – and we're not – what business is it of yours?"  
  
"None," Zev put in. "Which is why we're all so morbidly curious."  
  
"I can imagine Ghede won't be too happy," Rocky said via translator. "He'll ground the two of you indefinitely and lecture you about having romantic relations with the underlings."  
  
"That's for sure," Hobbie replied, and he puffed out his chest and did an exaggerated impression of Ghede's precise, nearly robotic gait. "You should treat them like an officer treats his troops!" he barked. "That means no talking to them, no sabaac, no fun, and by the way, if I catch you kissing one of them you get KP for a week!" He whirled and pointed at Mela, who had an amused expression on her aquatic face as her mind drifted into the gutter. "KP for a week for dirty thinking! And another week if you don't wipe that smirk off your face – hey, no laughing! KP for laughing! That's it! All you immature pipsqueaks are grounded for a month for being excessively happy!"  
  
By the time everyone was done laughing, Luke's ribs ached badly. Gavin, on the verge of incontinence, bolted for the men's refresher, still giggling uncontrollably.  
  
"That was good, Hobbie," chuckled Janson, wiping tears of laughter from his face.  
  
"But not quite accurate," Dekham replied. "Hold your breath and act like you've just taken a big swig of Neimodian vodka. Much better," he applauded when Hobbie complied.  
  
Luke rolled his eyes even as he started snickering again. /Yup, these are my friends/ he said to himself.  
  
When he casually glanced down the hallway, he saw Bekme lurking there, watching quietly. She gave him a smile and motioned for him to come with her.  
  
"Be right back," he told the squadron. His statement went unheard, however, as Hobbie did a frenzied reenactment of the jig Ghede had performed when Janson had slipped a stinger lizard down the back of his flightsuit.  
  
He ducked down the hallway. "What is it, Bekme?"  
  
She nodded toward the hangar. "They're talking about us, aren't they?"  
  
"Oh, nothing derogatory," he assured her. "They think there's something between us."  
  
An odd smile quirked her mouth. "Is there?"  
  
/Not her too!/ he thought. "Hey Bekme, you're a good friend. Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed having you around. But I'm not sure if I feel anything beyond that…"  
  
She cut him off by pulling him out of the squadron's sight and planting a kiss squarely on his lips.  
  
A million thoughts and feelings shot through Luke's brain at that moment, bouncing around randomly like blaster bolts in a magnetically sealed room. The only one that was halfway coherent was /Wow, this is interesting./  
  
Later he would be embarrassed to admit that Bekme was the first girl he'd ever kissed. Sure, he'd been friendly with Camie back at Anchorhead, but Fixer had always made it known she was his. So he was naturally clueless when it came to his first romantic encounter. But Bekme took charge, holding his face in her hands as he began to respond to her touch.  
  
"Do you feel that?" she asked, pulling away.  
  
"Yeah," was all he could say, so stunned was he.  
  
She laughed softly. "Now do you think there's something between us?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. Could be."  
  
She slapped his chest. "You are so unromantic, flyboy."  
  
"Hey, when it's your first time kissing a girl…"  
  
"Oh really? Well, I'm honored to have been the first."  
  
He chuckled and bent down to kiss her again.  
  
Why was it that, whenever he was enjoying himself, Ghede had to muscle his way in?  
  
"Commander Skywalker!"  
  
Luke flashed him a "give me a minute" gesture, not breaking off the kiss just yet. Might as well get the most out of this if he was going to get into trouble. The problem was, Ghede's shout had just attracted the attention of the other pilots.  
  
"I knew it!" shouted Wedge triumphantly.  
  
"Go Luke!" cheered Gavin.  
  
"Stang, come up for air!" Dekham jabbed.  
  
When Luke finally released Bekme and gave the Commander his attention, the Chiss had gone an odd color of purple.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "What have I told you about…"  
  
"It's my fault, Commander," Bekme cut in. "I kissed him first…"  
  
"I wasn't asking you, Olie," Ghede retorted tartly. "I have told you repeatedly, Skywalker, that to best lead the squadron you must be a leader, not a flight buddy…"  
  
His voice trailed off as he stepped into the hangar. Luke silently swore in dismay. Every pilot was flight-ready at a time when they should have been in bed. All the X-wings were primed for takeoff – even Ghede's, in hopes that Vader would finish his work early and be able to join them. As if to add one more nail to the coffin, Hobbie was still doing his lizard-down-Ghede's-flightsuit dance, howling "KP! KP!" all the while. Upon seeing the Commander he froze in mid-step, one leg raised and arms at crazy angles.  
  
"Uh… nice evening," he greeted lamely.  
  
Ghede was expressionless, but his crimson eyes flashed angrily. He let his gaze sweep Rogue Squadron, making them look away or shrink back.  
  
"I see," he noted coolly. "This explains it." He gave Hobbie an especially disgusted look, then raised his voice. "From a source that shall remain anonymous, I learned of your night flights and took it upon myself to see if the report was accurate. I see that it is. From now on, any pilot who misbehaves will not be grounded, but rather taken off the squadron entirely. Flight drills begin at 0600 every morning, no exceptions. And also let it be known that Life Squadron will spend every evening cleaning the ships, no exceptions."  
  
"That's groundcrew work!" protested Zev.  
  
"It will put your excess energy to good use," Ghede replied. "You seem to have it in spades, if you can plot juvenile pranks by day and fly all night."  
  
"Oh, lay off!" Luke snapped, his irritation having reached a breaking point. "This squadron's been run into the ground by your training tactics. Lighten up and give them a break!"  
  
"War gives not breaks, Skywalker! It's serious, grim, bloody conflict, not a game! And I won't encourage my men to see it as such!"  
  
"We know war's not a game! We know that firsthand! We've all lost friends and family to the war! That's exactly why you should ease up! Life's not all about the blasted war!"  
  
"When you take charge of the squadron, you can run it as you see fit! But until then, my orders override yours. And as it's obvious that this rebellion stems from your lack of leadership, I have no choice but to…"  
  
"No!" exclaimed Vader, striding up at that moment.  
  
"Go away, Vader," ordered Ghede. "This is Life Squadron business…"  
  
"It was my idea, Commander Ironmoon," Vader interrupted.  
  
Luke's gut went taut. /He's going to take my heat!/ He couldn't let Ghede punish Vader for something he didn't do!  
  
"Vader, beat it!" hissed Dekham. "We're the guilty ones!"  
  
"No," Vader replied. "It's the truth. I encouraged the pilots to show their displeasure in an inappropriate manner. If anyone is to blame, then blame me, not Luke."  
  
Ghede glowered at the mechanic. "I knew you were nothing but trouble, Vader. And if you were under my control, I'd see that you suffered severe disciplinary action. But the happy responsibility isn't mine, so I shall report this to Mothma. I'm sure she will not be as lenient this time. As for the rest of you, lights out. Drills begin in the morning." He stormed off.  
  
Squib gawked up at Vader. "Why'd you do that?"  
  
"To keep Luke from suffering from my actions," Vader replied. "I have no doubt that Ghede was planning on demoting him."  
  
"So?" Luke retorted. "Let him. I hate being told to act like a snob and that I can't have any friends…"  
  
"Rogue Squadron needs you, Luke," Vader retorted calmly. "They need a voice of reason, even if it goes unheard. They need one who will champion their cause, not Ghede's. If you were replaced, Rogue Squadron would have nothing to bring an end to Ghede's iron-handed leadership."  
  
"He's right," Mela added. "Ghede isn't going to be Commander forever. We want Luke to replace him, not a Ghede clone."  
  
"Spare me," groaned Rocky. "I'd rather work groundcrew."  
  
"Speaking of which, who ratted on us?" asked Wedge. "I'll bet it was the night sentries."  
  
A red-furred Bothan entered the hangar. "Darth Vader, Mon Mothma wants to see you in her office."  
  
Vader nodded and followed the messenger out.  
  
"How much do you want to bet that's the last we see of him for awhile?" asked Bekme.  
  
Luke just sighed. "To bed, pilots. Looks like our night flights are over."  
  
/Finished at last./  
  
Vader stepped back to have a better look at his handiwork. The Desert Angel gleamed in the dim light of dawn, shining with a coat of paint and fresh polish. She was beautiful… and she was flight-ready.  
  
/At least I've done something right/ he thought, reflecting on last night's conversation with Mothma. She hadn't been angry with him – indeed, she'd seemed more amused than upset over Ghede's complaint – but he had received an official reprimand for disrespect toward an officer.  
  
"All higher officers deserve respect, if nothing else," she had explained. "Yes, Ghede is a difficult man, but he is one of our best fighters. If you have issues with his leadership, please bring them to Admiral Ackbar or me. Don't take matters into your own hands."  
  
Once she'd dismissed him, his first instinct had been to go find Ghede and put a fist in his eye. But that would only reinforce his image as a violent Sith lord, an image he'd tried so hard to be rid of. So instead, too frustrated to sleep, he'd gone to the hangar and spent all night sorting the last bugs and glitches out of the Desert Angel. The effort, he thought with happy exhaustion, had been well-spent.  
  
"Darth?"  
  
Vader turned to see Han and Chewie running toward him, the latter carrying a duffel bag.  
  
"You're up early, Han. If you need a hand with the Falcon, I'm available…"  
  
"Have you been here all night?" demanded Han, wiping sweat from his unusually pale brow. He looked strangely worried – no, frantic. And Chewie's eyes were wild with panic. What was wrong? Had there been an accident?  
  
"Yes, I've been here all night. What's the problem?"  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
"C'mon." Han grabbed his arm in an effort to steer him toward the Falcon. "We're getting you out of here. Chewie's got your stuff."  
  
"Exactly what is the problem?" demanded Vader, wrenching away.  
  
"I'm your bodyguard," Han shot back. "It's my job to protect you. And right now half the base is itching to lynch you, so we're going to lay low awhile somewhere inconspicuous…"  
  
"What's going on, Han?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"Yes I do, Han."  
  
"Fine." He blew out his breath in exasperation. "Ghede's been murdered. And the evidence points to you." 


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the mixup about posting the wrong chapter here. It was late and I was tired... anyway, here's the real chapter.

Chapter 11  
  
Palpatine paced slowly around Boba Fett, as if examining him. And indeed he was. It had been six weeks since his training had begun, and though he had much yet to learn, he was a force to be reckoned with. He greatly looked forward to seeing him in action.  
  
Fett stood at attention, all deadly serenity. His armor, no longer the battered green and red of his bounty hunting days, gleamed a slick black, with the T-slit visor a glistening silver. His weaponry had been streamlined somewhat, though he was still a walking arsenal, and in lieu of a blaster a black-handled lightsaber dangled from his hip. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, reaching the back of his knees and pulled jauntily over his left shoulder.  
  
The Emperor gave a slight smile. Fett had come far in a short time. He was more than worthy of the Sith title.  
  
"Kneel, Fett."  
  
He sank to one knee, head bowed.  
  
"Give me your weapon."  
  
Without hesitation he pulled it from his belt and offered it to his master.  
  
Palpatine ignited the saber, admiring the shimmering red blade. This was a fearsome, wickedly designed weapon, far superior to any Palpatine had ever seen. Fett had outdone himself crafting the powerful blade.  
  
"Look at me, Fett. At my eyes."  
  
Fett raised his head, meeting the Emperor's stare.  
  
Raising the glowing plasma sword, he brought it down in a swift movement. It came to rest barely a centimeter from the man's face.   
  
Fett didn't flinch, or even twitch a muscle. He was still as if carved from stone. He trusted his master implicitly, as he should. Very good.  
  
"I give you the title of Sith Apprentice. From this moment on, you are no longer Boba Fett, but Darth Kain." He passed a hand over his head. "Rise, my apprentice."  
  
Darth Kain stood. Palpatine handed his saber back, then turned to address those gathered.  
  
"My right-hand-man has been chosen," he told the assembled Grand Moffs and Admirals. "The Empire is now prepared to strike back against the Rebellion."  
  
Resentful glowers met that statement. Each of these men had been desperately hoping – some secretly, others very openly – that he would be selected to replace Vader. To be passed over in favor of some bounty-hunting scum was a low blow to their bloated egos.  
  
How he loved to deflate them.  
  
"Darth Kain will lead a portion of the fleet to Yavin IV and crush the upstart Rebels while their backs are turned. Then we will be unchallenged in our reign of the galaxy."  
  
"Your Highness," a younger Moff pointed out with undisguised disgust. "Boba F… I mean Darth Kain is… was once a bounty hunter." He snarled the last two words. "How can we trust him?"  
  
Palpatine gave the man an even look, then allowed his gaze to slide in Kain's direction. He nodded solemnly.  
  
The Moff clutched his chest and crumpled in a heap.  
  
He didn't bother to hide his satisfied grin. Kain hadn't even needed to use a focusing gesture to execute the man. He'd been well trained indeed.  
  
There was no more dissention among these military leaders, a sign that they recognized Kain's superiority, even if they detested it. One leader, however, was missing from this gathering – his Yavin agent. The spy's report last night had been abruptly interrupted when someone had walked into the room where the agent had been sending the message. Oh well, no large matter. Military leaders could be easily replaced, unlike Sith Lords.  
  
Though in this case the replacement far surpassed the original, he thought as Darth Kain took his rightful place at his master's side.  
  
Only Vader's mask kept his jaw from hitting his chest. "Ghede's been WHAT?!"  
  
"Murdered. Choked to death. Put up a good fight, too – face was all bloody. Everyone thinks it's you, especially since he got you in trouble last night…"  
  
"Stang!" he snarled. "Someone's setting me up!"  
  
"That's why we have to go," Han urged. "Once the smoke clears, we can come back and you can defend yourself. But right now…"  
  
"Han, I can't run."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"I can't run. If I flee Yavin, it will only make the Alliance think I'm guilty. We'll have bounty hunters or worse dogging our heels across the galaxy."  
  
"Well, we can't stay here!"  
  
Vader clenched his jaw, trying to keep panic at bay. Just when he thought himself welcomed into the Alliance, this had to happen! Someone had to be plotting against him.  
  
Six Alliance soldiers entered the hangar and ran for them, blasters drawn.  
  
"Come on!" Han shouted, trying to drag him toward the Falcon. "I've lived with a price on my head! There are worse things than that!"  
  
"Halt!"  
  
Vader yanked his arm form Han's grasp. "Han, I have no choice. I refuse to run. I'll go to the Alliance and try to defend myself."  
  
The troops surrounded the three of them. One, a gaunt Balosaur, jammed the muzzle of his gun into the small of Vader's back.  
  
"Vader comes with us. He's under arrest for murder."  
  
Forenze proved herself to be not only an excellent doctor, but a very competent coroner as well. After doing a thorough examination of Ghede's body, she brought her report to the waiting area, where Mothma, Leia, Vader, and Rogue Squadron waited.  
  
"Can you tell us how Commander Ironmoon died, Dr. Forenze?" asked Mothma.  
  
"I can." She nodded at those gathered. "But stating it here will possibly prejudice these men and women against their own."  
  
"We must know," Mothma countered.  
  
She shot Vader an apologetic look. "Cause of death was asphyxiation. And judging from the damage to his esophagus, trachea, and carotid and jugular vessels, I'd say he was forcibly strangled. Beaten as well – fractured nose and facial laceration, lots of it."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Forenze," Mothma replied. "Find out if Commander Ironmoon had any next-of-kin and, if it is possible to do so without detection, inform them of the circumstances." She nodded to indicate the Fosh could leave.  
  
Luke sincerely wanted to believe that Vader was innocent, that someone in the Rebellion was trying to frame him. The two of them had managed to put aside their enmity and actually become friends over these past weeks. And the thought of any friend of his committing such a base act was improbable.  
  
But could he rightfully accuse a fellow Rebel of assassination and conspiracy? Sure, half the base hated Ghede and would love to see him dead, just as many others would love to see Vader ousted from the Alliance. But Luke had always believed the Alliance free of the corruption that tainted so many other organizations in the galaxy.  
  
Mothma now turned her attention toward Rogue squadron. "I must know where each of you was last night."  
  
"After Ghede chewed us out, we all went to bed," Mela defended.  
  
"Except Hobbie, Zev, and me," confessed Janson. "We stayed out late to… uh… plant a slime bomb in Ghede's X-wing. But ground crew caught us in the act."  
  
"Which means you had witnesses," Mothma concluded. "That clears you three."  
  
"Mothma, isn't it obvious who killed the Commander?" Leia pointed out. "Ghede was strangled. Vader was infamous for choking people to death. He hated Ghede as much as Life Squadron did. And he has no witnesses to back up his alibi. Shouldn't we be investigating him first?"  
  
"I wouldn't kill anyone!" Vader protested.  
  
"You have blood on your hands," she countered, pointing to the dark stains on his gloves and mechanic uniform.  
  
"Blood!" he exclaimed, shocked. "It's paint! I spent all night working on my fighter!"  
  
"I thought Naboo fighters were yellow," Leia shot back.  
  
"What difference does it make?" Wedge cut in. "He didn't do it! He admits it! We trust him!"  
  
"You trust Darth Vader?" she repeated in disbelief. "The man who was the Alliance's worst enemy for over twenty years? He's a Sith! Lies and deception are their way! How do we know he isn't feigning amnesia in order to infiltrate the Alliance and assassinate our leaders?"  
  
"Of all the… I would never…" Vader began, furious at the accusation.  
  
"Leia, Vader, enough," Mothma ordered. "Innocent until proven guilty, your Highness. That has always been the rule. And Vader is by no means the only suspect. Many people in this base disliked Ghede, and I can think of over a dozen offhand that were physically capable of throttling the man and had no solid alibi for last night."  
  
Vader visibly relaxed.  
  
"Vader, I must ask you to surrender your blaster. I'm afraid we must keep you in the cell block for a short while until this matter is resolved."  
  
"What?!" he exclaimed.  
  
"It's for your own safety," she explained. "I fear someone may try to retaliate against you…"  
  
"I swear I killed no one!" he cried.  
  
"What about Luke's father?" Leia countered angrily. "Obi-wan? The Jedi Order? You didn't kill them?"  
  
"Princess Leia!" Mothma said sharply. "That will be quite enough. Either keep your temper in check or leave the room."  
  
She turned and quickly left the room.  
  
"Mothma," Vader said in quiet desperation, extending an imploring hand toward her, "I promise you that I had no part in what happened to Ghede. I admit to not liking him, but I had no desire to see him dead."  
  
"And I believe you, Vader. But for your own protection, its best if we keep you someplace secure."  
  
"I thought you said innocent until proven guilty, Mothma."  
  
"I'm on your side, Vader."  
  
"You have a peculiar way of showing it," he replied resignedly, pulling his blaster from its holster. He took it by the barrel and offered it to her stock-first.  
  
"Take him to cell block two," she told the guards at the door, taking the proffered weapon.  
  
"Mothma, is this necessary?" asked Luke as Vader was cuffed and led away at gunpoint.  
  
"It's for the best," Mothma told him. "And I'm afraid he is still as much a suspect as everyone else in this base. He will have to be investigated as well."  
  
"But he's changed," Luke protested. "He would never have killed anyone…"  
  
"Luke, Princess Leia had a valid point," Gavin told him. "It's very possible he came here as part of a plot to destroy the Alliance leaders – and manipulated us so we wouldn't think him guilty."  
  
He shook his head. It couldn't be so! It just couldn't!  
  
"Madam Mothma?" a tech officer inquired, poking his head into the room. "You'd better come into the control room. We've just found evidence of a double agent."  
  
"As you can see," the tech explained, gesturing to a list of numerals on a computer screen that made absolutely no sense to Luke, "unauthorized transmissions have been entering and exiting this base for the past eight weeks. Whoever's been receiving and sending them hasn't been using the regular channels. They must have a personal comm unit."  
  
"Can you trace the transmissions?" asked Mothma as calmly as if she were asking the man if he could speak Huttese.  
  
"One jump ahead of you there, ma'am. Don't think you're gonna like the answer – they've been coming and going to and from the Imperial Palace on Corusant."  
  
A prickle of fear swept through Luke as he and Mothma listened to the dire news.  
  
"A high-ranking spy," Mothma noted. Was it Luke's imagination, or had she gone slightly pale? If so, it marked the first time he'd seen her act the slightest bit nervous at any news.  
  
"When was the last transmission made?" she asked.  
  
"Last night, close to midnight."  
  
"Eight weeks," Luke breathed, looking away and rubbing his temples. He didn't want to think about that. But Vader had been part of the Alliance for eight weeks now…  
  
"I can unscramble the messages if you want," the tech said helpfully. "They may tell us who the spy is."  
  
"Don't bother," Mothma ordered.  
  
The officer looked disappointed. "Why not?"  
  
"We've already been betrayed, sir. And every minute we hesitate, that betrayal caused the Alliance further damage. We must evacuate the Yavin base at once." She turned to Luke. "These are not the circumstances under which I would have given you a promotion, Skywalker, but you are now the Commander of Life Squadron."  
  
"Rogue Squadron," he corrected automatically.  
  
She didn't question the name change. "Commander of Rogue Squadron, then. Until further notice, Olie will be your second."  
  
"Mothma, it couldn't have been Vader!" he said firmly, more to convince himself than her.  
  
"I don't want to believe Vader is either traitor or murderer, Luke. I placed a great deal of faith in the man. But even you must admit the evidence, however circumstantial, is heavily against him." She sighed sadly. "I want Rogue Squadron battle-ready as soon as possible. They will defend the base from aerial attack while we make evacuation preparations and escort the ships out of the system. The Empire may not be mobilizing to attack just yet, but we'll take no chances."  
  
"What about Vader?"  
  
She pressed her lips together in a grim line. "He will be court-martialed once we've reached a secure location."  
  
Rogue Squadron was unusually subdued as they prepped themselves and their ships for possible combat. None of them had ever thought that someone would kill Ghede, hated though he was. And Vader's presumed guilt only worsened the situation. They'd given him their trust, and that trust was now broken.  
  
Artoo crooned worriedly at Luke as a member of groundcrew lowered the astromech into his X-wing.  
  
"I'm fine, Artoo," he lied.  
  
"Luke," Bekme murmured from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm very sorry. Vader was my friend too. But he did a horrible thing."  
  
"I can't believe he would do something like that," Luke insisted.  
  
"I can," Gavin put in. "He's choked people for years. This is just one more notch in his lightsaber."  
  
"But he had amnesia!" Zev insisted.  
  
"Maybe he faked it," Ar'ya replied. "Or he's since recovered."  
  
"You know what I think?" Dekham announced.  
  
"Oh, you actually think?" Rocky growled.  
  
"I think Vader DID kill Ghede," he went on, "but not for the reason everyone thinks. I think Ghede was the spy, and Vader found out and offed him to shut him up."  
  
"Then why doesn't he confess and justify what he did?" asked Wedge.  
  
"His reputation," Mela answered. "He doesn't want to be seen as a murder anymore."  
  
Luke didn't do anything to stop the theories and rumors that bounced back and forth. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure just what to believe. If only the murderer – whoever he, she, it, or they were – could be found.  
  
"Commander?"  
  
Squib's nervous squeak cut through his thoughts, and he looked behind him to see the Sullustan pilot staring at him, quailing with fear.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Squib glanced nervously at Bekme.  
  
"Bekme, excuse me a moment. I need to talk to Squib."  
  
"Okay." She went to her X-wing.  
  
"Hey Squib, what's up?"  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.  
  
"Come on, I'm still your friend Luke," he urged. "You can tell me anything."  
  
"Rogue Squadron!" shouted Admiral Ackbar, striding into the hangar. "Stardestroyers have been sighted orbiting Yavin! Prepare for combat at once!"  
  
"Saddle up, Rogues!" Luke shouted, hefting himself up the ladder into his X-wing. "We have a base to defend! I'll talk to you later, Squib."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12  
  
Chaos reigned in the Massassi Temple. While tower gunners climbed to the top of the ruins to man the heavy cannons installed there, other personnel poured into the transports. X-wings circled the base like birds of prey, keeping an eye out for enemy ships. Heavy equipment and anything that could not be quickly packed was left for the mynocks. Technicians worked feverishly to retrieve vital information from what computers and droids could not be taken, then erase the files and memories of those machines. An urgent energy permeated the halls and dominated the thoughts and actions of everyone.  
  
Almost everyone.  
  
Han Solo found himself staring blankly at a readout screen on the Falcon's controls. Vader had installed it, but Han had never used a readout this new before. If only Vader had had time to explain the cursed gadget to him.  
  
Stang, why did the guy have to go and get himself arrested? If he had only consented to being taken into hiding, he wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe Han should have slugged him over the head and dragged his unconscious carcass to Ord Mantell or someplace else obscure, anything to protect him from capture. Some bodyguard he'd been.  
  
Chewie whuffed.  
  
"No, I'm not fine," Han replied shortly.  
  
Chewie growled a reply.  
  
"Do you think he's guilty?"  
  
The Wookie shook his head.  
  
"At least two of us think not." He started the Falcon up. "We'd better check out now if we want to beat the rush."  
  
Chewie barked.  
  
"What?"  
  
He repeated himself.  
  
"Oh no! Not another rescue mission! The last one almost got us killed!"  
  
A snarled rebuttal.  
  
"Of course I believe he's innocent! But I only stick my neck out so far! Taking him into hiding, fine, but I'm not breaking into another cell block without payment!"  
  
Chewie snarled.  
  
"All right, all right, things I do to keep you happy, hairball." He drew his blaster. "We'll go do a jailbreak."  
  
All but the most vital personnel had been sent to the transports. High Command's transport was the first to depart, entering hyperspace seconds before the first bombs were dropped. Explosions shook the control room as Leia and a handful of technicians cleaned out the last of the computers.  
  
"Finished!" a Falleen tech exclaimed at long last, shutting the system down.  
  
"To the transport," Leia ordered. "Last one out, tell the gunners to abort and disconnect the power."  
  
She filed out with the tech officers. The halls went dark as the power was shut down. Emergency glowrods flickered on, giving the halls an eerie yellow glow.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
She turned to find the source of that yelp. In the semi-darkness, two people had collided.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"Watch where you're going, dust mop!" she heard Han snapped.  
  
Chewie bellowed.  
  
"Han! Chewie!" Leia pulled a glowrod from the wall and made her way toward them. "What are you doing here? I thought all ships were told to take off."  
  
"We're here to help evacuate the base," he replied, taking the glowrod from her.  
  
"It's a little late for that," she replied.  
  
"Well, I bet no one bothered to evacuate the cell blocks."  
  
"They were among the first areas cleared out…"  
  
"Well, no harm in checking, is there?"  
  
"Han, why are you doing this?" she demanded. "Darth Vader killed Ghede and has been supplying the Empire with information for the past two months! He's a spy and a murderer!"  
  
"I don't buy that poodoo, Princess. Someone's set the guy up, and I have a mind to find out who. Besides, I haven't been released from my assignment yet. I'm still his bodyguard, and I intend to make good on my job."  
  
"Han, he's a Sith Lord…"  
  
"Oh, save it for later, your Worship," he snapped. "I know you don't like Vader, but that's no reason to let him get pounded to ash. C'mon Chewie!"  
  
They ducked down a side passage.  
  
Leia's first impulse was to run after them, but it was hopeless. No one could stop Han when he had his mind set on something. But why was he so adamant about saving Vader? Did he intend to free him and whisk him away to some backwater world to hide?  
  
She couldn't let that happen. She was determined to make sure Vader stood trial for his crimes. Acting fast, she removed a second glowrod and ran down a second hallway. This was a shortcut to the cell blocks; hopefully she could either cut them off or get to the cell block before Han…  
  
/Leia./  
  
Though that voice was mellow and soothing, it nearly made her jump out of her skin.  
  
/Don't think of Vader as a monster, Leia. That monster you fear so much is dead./  
  
/Who are you?/  
  
/Don't be afraid, Leia. I'm a friend of your father./  
  
/My father?/  
  
/Your father. I am Obi-wan Kenobi./  
  
She held her breath. /General Kenobi?/ She had given up all hope of ever meeting the aged soldier again after his death on the Death Star.  
  
/Just Obi-wan, my child./ A mental chuckle. /I always found the title of General amusing for a keeper of galactic peace./  
  
/But why are you here? Why are you talking to me?/  
  
/Because you are allowing Vader to hold you prisoner again, Leia. But this is not a prison of walls or locks. It's a prison of anger and fear. Vader isn't your jailer, child. You are. You allow your feelings against him to enslave you./  
  
/I can't forgive him!/ she cried mentally. /He hurt me, he destroyed my world…/  
  
/Very wrong, Leia. Tarkin gave the order, not him./  
  
/But he forced me to watch… he stood by and did nothing…/  
  
/Oh, Leia./ The love and almost fatherly concern behind that thought threatened to sweep her away. /How do you think Vader became who he was before the Battle of Yavin? He wasn't born that way. He had a great deal of negative emotions to overcome, but he refused to let them go. He let them control him, chain him, until he was twisted into a Sith Lord. Fear only leads to anger, anger to hate, and hate to suffering. Let go of your fear, my child, before it destroys you./  
  
She fell to her knees with a sob. Stars, was she no better than Vader? How could she have let herself descend down the same path he'd trod? Obi-wan was right – her hatred was only confining her, ruling her. She couldn't let that happen. She had to let go of her fear and anger, just as Luke had told her to do. And though it would be hard to do, she would forgive Vader. She had to. Her soul depended on it.  
  
Subdued, she stood and continued down the hall, with a different purpose in mind.  
  
"Sithspit!" Han hissed, kicking the doorway of the fifth empty cell they'd opened. "Don't they keep a list of which prisoners are in what cell?"  
  
Chewie was trying to punch in the code for the next cell door, but his paws were too large to manage the buttons. Han moved in next to him and entered the code.  
  
At least he'd found out why no one had bothered to make sure Vader was aboard a transport. After a little arm-twisting by Chewie, the guards confessed to accepting a bribe in exchange for "forgetting" to evacuate the cells. As Vader was the only prisoner on this block, it was obvious that whoever had framed him was responsible for this, too. The problem was, none of the guards had seen the briber face to face, having only communicated with him/her/it through written messages.  
  
To Han, that was just more proof that Vader had been framed. The true murderer obviously knew a trial would prove Vader innocent and so was arranging for the man to be killed before his court-martial.  
  
The door slid open.  
  
Han stared a moment, puzzled. There was no one in here, but it wasn't exactly empty either.  
  
Chewie rumbled.  
  
"Doesn't smell right to me, either," he replied, stepping inside. Someone had been using this room for something, all right – a supply sack lay in one corner, and a holocomm unit sat in the center of the cell. On the floor next to it was a thick scarf with the Imperial insignia on it.  
  
/The murder weapon/ he realized, kicking it aside. /The murderer's our friendly neighborhood Imp spy./  
  
He took a second to investigate the bag. Unzipping it, he upended it and allowed its contents to spill out. Clothes mostly, plus a few disks, a small book, a set of boots… and an Imperial ID card.  
  
His stomach gave a heave when he saw the face on the card.  
  
Vader sat in a corner of his cell, knees drawn to his chest, head buried in his folded arms. Dimly he felt the wall and floor shiver slightly as if struck by a small earthquake, but that failed to grab his interest. The Alliance's accusation dominated his thoughts, shrouding him in a depression he hadn't felt since first awakening in the medical bay after his TIE's crash.  
  
The worst of this entire situation, he decided, was that he would probably never know exactly who framed him. It could have been anyone – Princess Leia, a disgruntled soldier, the family member of a Rebel he'd killed, even one of the Rogues. But as the Alliance didn't seem very interested in finding out who the real culprit was, they would most likely go free, while he would be tried and quite probably convicted for Ghede's murder.  
  
There was a hiss as the door opened. He didn't bother to look up. It was most likely some guards here to take him to his trial…  
  
"Vader."  
  
That was the Princess! His head came up sharply. Was she here to taunt him? Kill him now and have her vengeance? Grill him for details on Ghede's death, details he couldn't provide?  
  
"Is the Alliance ready to try me?" was all he asked.  
  
"No," she replied, stepping into the cell. She hadn't any weapons or guards, yet she didn't seem afraid of him anymore. That puzzled him. A few days ago she had practically fled at the sight of him.  
  
"I've come to release you," she went on. "The base is under attack. We have to evacuate as soon as possible. Come with me."  
  
Still skeptical, he remained where he was. "Why do you want to help me? Luke told me you hated me and that I… I…"  
  
"Tortured me," she replied. "Yes, I figured he would tell you. But I've decided to drop my pack of rocks."  
  
"Drop your what?"  
  
She smiled unexpectedly. "Sorry. Something Luke told me." The smile faded. "I realize that my feelings toward you are my own problem, not anyone else's. And I shouldn't let them come in the way of justice… or of my own life. I forgive you, Darth Vader, for all you've done to me. The question is, will you forgive me for being so quick to accuse?"  
  
It was as if a great weight had come off his back. His heart rose. "Of course, your Highness."  
  
"Now let's go. We don't have much time…"  
  
"Darth!" exclaimed Han, bursting into the cell. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"  
  
"Han!" he replied. "Chewie! What are you doing here?"  
  
"We're here to break you out. But it looks like that's been taken care of."  
  
"We're wasting time," Leia told him. "We've got to get to the last transport or we'll be stranded here and either be captured or killed."  
  
"Hold on, Princess," Han told her. "Something's come up."  
  
"What could be more important than escaping death?" asked Vader.  
  
"How about the identity of Ghede's killer?"  
  
That got their attention in a hurry.  
  
"I found the spot where our friend the spy's been doing their business. They left this." He held up a heavy scarf.  
  
Leia sucked in her breath. "The spy killed Ghede."  
  
"It gets worse. They also left an ID card." He handed it to Vader. "It's a member of Rogue Squadron."  
  
He felt the blood drain from his face. "Good stars!"  
  
A dozen X-wings hung over the temple in a loose V formation, Luke at the head. Facing them were approximately fifty TIEs in various battle formations. Strangely enough, after dropping several bombs around the base to see what they could scare up, the Imperial ships hadn't pressed the attack. Maybe they were hoping the Alliance would strike first. Or they were awaiting a signal of some sort. Either way, Luke kept the squadron on their toes.  
  
"They outnumber us, sir," Janson noted balefully.  
  
"Thanks for the input, Mr. Obvious," muttered Hobbie.  
  
"Hobbie, enough," Luke cautioned gently.  
  
Janson did have a point. In the Battle of Yavin they had lost so many fighters, and there hadn't been enough time or resources to acquire more ships or train enough new pilots to build the ranks up to their former state. But hopefully the squadron's training – as well as the fact that X-wings had the added advantage of shields – would make up for their small numbers. And it wasn't as if the transports were totally unprotected – each had their own guns, as well as an escort of two Y-wings per craft, though the Y-wing pilots had received only rudimentary training.  
  
"Commander?" Squib said in a tiny voice.  
  
"Yes, Squib?"  
  
"I have to tell you something."  
  
"Can it wait until the rendezvous?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Got air sickness, buddy?" asked Mela kindly.  
  
"No, it's about… about Ghede."  
  
He had everyone's attention now.  
  
"You know who killed him?" asked Luke, managing to hide his anxiousness to hear the answer.  
  
"Th-the Imperial sp-p-py killed G-ghede."  
  
The silence could be cut with a vibroblade. Everyone waited with bated breath for the rest of Squib's answer.  
  
"I s-s-saw the spy g-go into th-th-the cell b-b-block. The spy is…"  
  
Flame enveloped Squib's X-wing, and it plummeted into the trees.  
  
"SQUIB!" Luke screamed.  
  
"What the stang happened?!" demanded Wedge.  
  
Bekme, in the fighter that had been behind Squib, was screaming hysterically. "Oh stars! Oh stars! I'm so sorry!" she cried, close to tears. "I don't know how that happened! My weapons just freaked out on me!"  
  
Luke felt strangely uneasy at Bekme's reaction. Something was wrong…  
  
"Bekme, that was no accident," he told her firmly.  
  
"It was!" she insisted. "I didn't even touch the trigger! Vader must have rigged my controls…"  
  
"You should have noticed any tampering during the preflight checks," Luke countered. "And if you had found evidence of such tampering, you should have reported it to me immediately."  
  
Dead silence.  
  
"Bekme, talk to me," he ordered. "What really happened?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"You!" shouted Wedge, aghast. "You did it all! You killed Ghede! You blamed it on Darth so he could take the heat and not you! You framed him!"  
  
"Why, Bekme?" asked Ar'ya.  
  
"Ghede and Squib walked in on me," she said quietly. "They saw my secret. I couldn't let the Commander blow my cover. And he couldn't be bullied into staying quiet like Squib could. I had to shut him up somehow."  
  
Luke felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. "You've been an Imperial agent all this time, not Vader," he whispered, crushed. "You betrayed us all."  
  
"I always said Queen Amidala would have been disgusted by the state of the galaxy today," she replied evenly. "She would have been horrified that a faction would actually seek to take over the galaxy by force. She fought the Seperatists during the Clone Wars, and she would have fought the Rebellion today."  
  
"So you wormed your way in here to break it up from the inside?" demanded Wedge angrily.  
  
"It was not my choice," Bekme shot back. "Women, even high-ranking ones, aren't liked in the Empire, so I usually get the dangerous assignments like this. I was sent by the Emperor himself."  
  
His heart fell somewhere around his ankles. "I thought I could call you a friend, Bekme."  
  
"I'm sorry, Luke," she said with honest regret. "I truly loved you, even if you were the galaxy's most wanted man. But I'm an Imperial officer. Duty must always come first. That's why I had to kill Ghede and make Squib swear to not breathe a word when they walked into the cell where I was sending the message. I think Ghede suspected me from the beginning. He certainly kept a rather close watch on me."  
  
"Why blame Darth, though?" asked Zev. "He didn't do anything to you!"  
  
"Do you think only the Rebellion has cause to fear the Emperor's right-hand man?" she retorted. "He's a monster! Ever since I was a little girl, seeing him on holobroadcasts gave me nightmares! When Luke dragged his body into the base, I was terrified out of my wits. But when I found out he had amnesia, I knew I could work it to my advantage."  
  
"So you worked it to make him look like the guilty party," Dekham realized.  
  
"Next to a member of the Alliance's elite squadron, who was going to believe a former Sith?" she replied.  
  
Shocked silence reigned as Bekme's fighter broke out of formation and began to head toward the Imperial ranks. Wedge was the first to recover from his shock and fire, but she dodged the strike.  
  
"Shoot her down, Luke!" urged Gavin. "You're the best shot among us!"  
  
Luke tried to tighten his grip on the trigger, but he couldn't. She was a spy… but she was still the woman he had given his heart to. How could he destroy her?  
  
"Olie to Imperial Fleet, fire on my command." To Luke she said, "If you surrender now, Luke, I can arrange for you to have a lenient sentence."  
  
He drew himself up straight. Anger began to replace his disbelief. Did she really expect him to give up so easily? She should know better, having been among true Rogues for so long.  
  
"That's Commander Skywalker to you, Bekme," he replied coldly. "Fight to the end, Rogues!"  
  
"And that's Madam Grand Admiral Olie to you, Commander," she hissed. "Wipe them out, men. All of them except Skywalker. We want him live."  
  
"Of all the…" snarled Leia as she, Han, Chewie, and Vader charged for the Falcon. "If I get my hands on that tramp…"  
  
"Now don't get worked up, Princess," Han told her between breaths. "We'll get there in plenty of time to save your boyfriend."  
  
"He's not my boyfriend!" she retorted.  
  
"Why did it have to be Bekme?" asked Vader. "Luke loves her! He'll never be able to strike her down, even if she is the enemy!"  
  
At last they reached the hangar. The shield doors were wide open, offering them a view of the skies outside – and the battle.  
  
Leia's heart lurched. Rogue Squadron was outnumbered five to one. One X-wing had already been shot down, and it blazed in ruins on the jungle floor. Somehow, however, she knew it wasn't Luke's. But the rest of the ships were in dire trouble.  
  
"We'll get to the Falcon and help Luke out…" began Han. "Hey!"  
  
Vader had taken off, heading for the other end of the hangar.  
  
"Where are you going?" Leia called.  
  
"Two ships are better than one," he replied, disappearing behind a heap of ship parts.  
  
There was the deep thrum of a starfighter's engine powering up, and a shining N-1 class Naboo starfighter roared out of the hangar, gleaming a bright flaming red in the sunlight.  
  
"Well, that explains the red stains," Leia remarked, feeling guilty all over again.  
  
"We don't have time for I-told-you-sos, Princess," Han told her. "Can you shoot or fly?"  
  
"Both," she replied. "But I'm a better shot than I am a pilot."  
  
"Good. You and I'll man the guns, Chewie will fly. Let's help Luke and Vader hold off those TIEs until the transports can take off!" 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
Two TIE fighters went down in flames under Luke's guns. As he twisted around to pursue another TIE the seventh transport roared skyward, escorted by two Y-wings flown by rookie pilots. But one Y-wing took a direct hit and exploded before the ships could leave Yavin's atmosphere. Five TIEs rose in formation to pursue the transport.  
  
"Let them go!" ordered Olie. "We want Skywalker!"  
  
"Ma'am, we were sent here to destroy the Rebels…" began a TIE pilot, his voice tinny over the comm.  
  
"Catching Skywalker is worth the entire Rebellion," she replied sternly.  
  
Luke swallowed hard.  
  
"We'll protect you, Commander," volunteered Zev.  
  
"Stay with the transports," Luke ordered. "The Stardestroyers may still try to take them out."  
  
"What about you?" demanded Janson.  
  
"I'll be fine!" he shot back. "Despite what Admiral Olie says, I'm not worth the entire Rebellion."  
  
"Don't play humble, Skywalker," Bekme advised. "You have a bounty on your head that's double that of the entire High Command put together."  
  
Her X-wing shrieked toward him, nearly colliding with his ship. He fired but missed.  
  
"You're outnumbered," she pointed out. "You may as well surrender and spare your friends."  
  
"Being outnumbered hasn't stopped Rogue Squadron before," he pointed out. "You know that."  
  
Another transport took to the skies, but it received a hit from the back. It rocked dangerously but stayed gamely aloft. Whether it made it into space Luke didn't see, for suddenly a mass of TIE fighters surrounded his ship.  
  
"You're a real friend, you know that?" he snapped. "Got me to believe you actually had feelings for me when all along you were working for the enemy. Was it your plan all along to get me so in love with you I'd follow you back to Imperial Center like a puppy?"  
  
"I wasn't planning on falling in love with you, Skywalker!"  
  
TIEs circled his fighter. There was no chance of escape, and he couldn't possibly outfight them all.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you, Luke," she said almost pleadingly. "If you come with me quietly, I'll make sure your sentence is light."  
  
He fumed, enraged. She'd betrayed him! That was his only thought. He had loved her, and she'd repaid that love by stabbing him and the entire Alliance in the back! Angrily he grabbed at the trigger. She'd pay for this…  
  
/Luke!/  
  
Obi-wan's voice came so suddenly he jumped in his seat.  
  
/Luke/ he continued in a calmer tone, /do not attack Bekme in anger./  
  
/How can I not feel angry?/ he demanded. /She hurt me!/  
  
/I know, I know. And it pains me to see you suffer too. But utilizing that anger as a weapon of vengeance was Vader's downfall./  
  
/What do you mean?/  
  
/Betrayal by a friend is far more painful, and ignited a far more deadly rage, than betrayal by a stranger or enemy. Vader believed I had done him wrong, and his fury at that perceived injury engulfed him in darkness. If you strike Bekme down in anger, you will suffer far more than she will./  
  
Luke took a moment to rein in his anger, breathing deeply. Why was Obi-wan always right?  
  
Bekme's X-wing circled him patiently. She was obviously in no hurry to take him, even if it meant letting the Rebellion slip through her fingers.  
  
"I forgive you, Bekme," he said slowly. "I forgive you for all you have done to me and plan still to do. But I can't forgive what you've done to others – to Vader, Commander Ironmoon, Squib, Rogue Squadron, the Alliance, the entire galaxy. That's why I have to fight you – not for revenge, but for justice." His finger crooked around the trigger once more. "Forgive me for what I'm about to do."  
  
"We can still have a future together, Luke," she told him earnestly. "There have been Rebels who joined the Imperial cause, just as there have been Imperials who joined the Rebel cause. And if a Rebel, even a notorious one, were to marry a high-ranking Imperial, no one would dare object."  
  
"There's no future for us, Bekme, because I refuse to surrender. The Emperor won't receive Skywalker alive today. Instead, he'll be delivered a corpse – either mine or that of his spy's."  
  
A long pause.  
  
"I'm sorry, Luke," she replied finally. "I gave you a chance and you refused it. I gave you my love, but you seem to reject that as well. I'm not responsible for what happens to you now. Fire at will, men! But let me out first!"  
  
An opening formed in the wall of TIE fighters, just wide enough for her X-wing to slip through.  
  
Luke punched his throttle, squeezing through the gap before the TIEs could move in to cover the hole. He roared after Bekme, the screams of nearly two dozen fighters trailing him.  
  
"Artoo, max power to rear deflector shields!" he shouted.  
  
Artoo beeped compliance.  
  
Bekme, startled at being the prey now rather than the predator, swerved sharply to her port side. Luke kept tight on her stern, trying his best to ignore the swarm of TIEs on his own tail.  
  
There was a cry over the comm, and an X-wing plummeted to the ground.  
  
"Wedge!" he shouted.  
  
"I'm clear!" Wedge assured him. "But my fighter's down!"  
  
"I'll pick him up!" volunteered Ar'ya.  
  
"No time!" Luke shouted. "Concentrate on the transports! We'll come back for you, Wedge!"  
  
A heavy barrage of laser fire was barely absorbed by Luke's shields. He wasn't going to hold out much longer against this assault.  
  
Red flashed at the edge of his vision, and burning flak peppered his ship. TIEs and pieces of TIEs scattered like avians before a hunting gundark as a proton torpedo detonated in their midst. Weak with relief, Luke craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his rescuer.  
  
Over the comm of every Rogue came what could best be described as a primal howl – or a long, drawn-out "YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  
  
"Who the stang?" demanded Rocky.  
  
"Naboo fighter, identify yourself," ordered the pilot of an ascending transport.  
  
"Darth Vader, flying the Desert Angel! Thought Rogue Squadron could use a hand."  
  
The squadron broke into loud cheering as the N-1 starfighter, not yellow but a brilliant red, joined their ranks. Luke gasped in relief. He no longer saw Vader as a possible traitor, and if he was allowed to fly with the Rogues the Alliance must have released him.  
  
"We're even now, Luke," Vader told him.  
  
"Thanks!" Luke shouted. "Help me catch Bekme! She's the one who framed you!"  
  
"Han figured that out. I'm onto her."  
  
"Can't you do anything without getting yourself into trouble, kid?" demanded Han, and the Falcon roared into view.  
  
"We picked up Wedge for you," Leia added over the comm. "He's fine."  
  
The X-wing, freighter, and Naboo fighter pinned Bekme's X-wing between them in a classic pincer movement. She tried to bolt ahead, but the Falcon was in the way. Luke and Vader cut off escape from either side as well.  
  
"It's over, Admiral Olie," Luke told her. "Come along quietly."  
  
"Over my dead body, Commander Skywalker," she retorted. "I've got an ally – the Emperor's new right-hand man."  
  
Luke paused, startled. The Emperor had found a new protégé already?  
  
"I'm sure that's a bluff," Leia snapped. It was obvious that her opinion of Bekme had reached an all-time low.  
  
"You don't believe me?" she shot back. "I'll introduce you to him. Darth Kain – formerly known as Boba Fett."  
  
"Boba Fett?!" exclaimed Han.  
  
Luke's guts churned. He'd heard stories about the ruthless hunter, but he hadn't known the man was Force-strong.  
  
An oblong starcraft – a Firespray, he recognized – barreled toward them, gleaming with a black paint job and chrome finish. There was no mistaking the raw evil pouring off the ship like radiation from a leaking reactor; a Dark Lord sat behind the controls.  
  
"Darth Vader," a harsh, gravelly voice purred over the comm. "Flattered to meet you. But you've outlived your usefulness to the Empire." Fire lanced from his ship's guns.  
  
The Desert Angel went into a spin to dodge the shots. Bekme took advantage of the gap formed by his maneuver and screamed away. Luke gunned the engines, tearing after her.  
  
"Han, Leia, Chewie, help Rogue Squadron!" Luke ordered. "I'll take Bekme! Vader, cover me!"  
  
Bekme attempted to throw Luke off her trail by threading the Needle. Luke turned his X-wing in order to pursue her between the two towers. Vader was right after them.  
  
The Firespray dipped into view, firing a tracking missile at Luke. He was forced to break off the pursuit to defend himself. But no matter which way he turned, he couldn't shake the missile.  
  
"Eject your spare parts!" Vader shouted.  
  
"What good will that do?" demanded Luke.  
  
"Just trust me!"  
  
"Artoo…" began Luke.  
  
But the droid was ahead of the game. Several boxes of ship components were flung from his fighter's stern. The missile's targeting computer, confused by this new obstacle, mistook them for its intended target and detonated against them.  
  
"Good work," Vader said encouragingly. "Where's Bekme?"  
  
"We lost her!" Luke exclaimed, bringing his X-wing around for a better look. "I'll keep an eye out for her. You distract Darth Kain."  
  
"One Darth knows another," Vader replied, and he pulled up.  
  
The Firespray opened fire on the Naboo fighter. The Desert Angel bolted out of the way and circled the larger craft like a nexu prowling around an injured grazer. Kain's ship tried to turn in order get the smaller craft in his sights, but his ship was just too sluggish to catch up with the agile fighter.  
  
/Look out!/  
  
That wasn't Obi-wan's voice this time – it was his own. The Force!  
  
He dove sharply – just in time to miss the proton torpedo that crackled over his head. Bekme followed that attack up with a furious barrage of laser fire. She was no longer even trying for a live capture – she was aiming to kill!  
  
"Forgive me, Luke," she told him.  
  
"No, Bekme," he replied. "Forgive me."  
  
Hating himself for doing this, he took careful aim and fired once.  
  
Her X-wing's anti-grav engines disintegrated in a flurry of sparks and shrapnel, and she shouted her dismay as the craft spiraled downard. At least she would survive the crash, even if it meant leaving her on Yavin for the Empire to pick up. Unless another Rebel ship retrieved her – it would mean putting her on trial in Vader's place, but at least she'd be alive…  
  
But Kain's ship dove for the fallen fighter, and things went horribly wrong.  
  
Bekme struggled to open the X-wing canopy, but the crash had jammed it shut. Powers-that-be take all! She'd greatly underestimated Luke's skills – and overestimated the strength of his feelings toward her.  
  
Admittedly, she hadn't intended to develop such a deep friendship with him at all. But it had been an immense aid in her mission, she'd thought. He hadn't suspected her until the damage had been done.  
  
/If only he'd surrendered/ she thought wistfully. /If only he'd come back to Corusant with me… we could have seen this through together…/  
  
Kain's ship, the Slave, swooped low over her X-wing. A rescue! She switched frequencies on her comm so only the Imperial ships could pick up her distress call.  
  
"Mayday! Mayday! This is Admiral Olie! I'm down point seven-five kilometers south of the Blackstone towers! Send a pickup shuttle!"  
  
"Overruled," Kain grated. "You're staying put."  
  
"What?!" she shouted. "You can't leave me here!"  
  
"Emperor's order."  
  
"Emperor's order! I gave the mummified bastard the coordinates for the Rebel base, and being stranded here is the thanks I get?!"  
  
"You bungled this mission hopelessly, late Admiral Olie," Kain hissed. "Let this be your reward."  
  
A seismic charge hurtling toward her grounded craft was the last thing she saw.  
  
The Desert Angel shook with the blast as a violent energy flooded the jungle. Trees fell in a tangle of logs and rocks split in two as blue light razored across the ground, slicing horizontally through everything in its path. The Massassi and Blackstone temples collapsed on themselves. The last transport, also rocking from the impact, barely cleared the ground in time. The fallen X-wings of Wedge, Squib, and Bekme splintered into pieces.  
  
The roar of the blast came an instant later, but even it couldn't drown out the pain-wracked cry that echoed over the comm.  
  
/Luke!/  
  
A cold burning filled Vader's torso, almost as if he were experiencing Luke's pain as well. How could this happen to him? Bekme had been a traitor… but she had been Luke's love as well, something not easily forgotten. Why did the boy have to go through this – losing yet another loved one to an act of violence on the part of the Empire?  
  
He ground his teeth as Kain's ship flew past him. How cold-hearted could a man be to murder his own subordinates? He gunned his own engines. Kain was going down!  
  
The Firespray paused, as if Kain was receiving an order. Then the ebon-black ship turned, fired a parting shot at Luke, and soared into the sky. Vader shrieked after him, intent on his goal. Kain was almost in his sights…  
  
/Vader!/  
  
He stopped short. /Obi-wan?/  
  
/I counseled Luke on this. Let me counsel you as well. Do not attack in anger! It is the path to the dark side./  
  
/Then how am I to stop Kain before he kills again?/  
  
/You cannot defeat him today. He is too powerful, and there are more pressing matters. Let him go and help Luke./  
  
/Help Luke?/  
  
Then he saw Luke's X-wing spiraling down, smoke trailing from its starboard side.  
  
"Luke!"  
  
Luke's X-wing bucked as it took a direct hit from behind, and it spun toward the ground. He frantically worked the controls, but to no avail. He was powerless to stop his descent.  
  
He was going to die.  
  
Closing his eyes, he let go, mentally and physically. His hands released the controls of the fighter, his mind released control of his fate. Would death really be so bad? Death was an accepted risk in the Alliance, something all Rebels knew they would have to face a lot sooner than most. And better a quick death in battle, many theorized, than the agonizing torture promised to any captured Rebel.  
  
Besides, death would mean seeing his family again – his gruff but genuinely caring uncle, his kind aunt, his adventurous childhood friend, his wise mentor, his father, maybe even his mother… and Bekme. If death meant a reunion with them, could it be so horrible?  
  
There was a loud metallic clang, and his X-wing's fall inexplicably slowed and stopped. Stunned, he opened his eyes and looked down.  
  
The Desert Angel was beneath his X-wing, supporting the ailing fighter's weight, carrying him almost piggy-back.  
  
"C'mon, Luke," Vader urged over the comm. "A little juice to your engines, help me out. Your ship's too heavy for the Angel to lift alone."  
  
"Don't worry, I've got him," Han assured him. "Easy does it."  
  
The two fighters separated, and the Angel pulled away as the X-wing floated upward on the Falcon's tractor beam. Once Luke was secure at the bottom of the freighter, they prepared to make the final jump to hyperspace. Around him, Rogue Squadron was busy regrouping, trying to avoid the TIEs that flitted around aimlessly like disoriented birds. There was no sign of Darth Kain's ship.  
  
He took a deep breath, suddenly frightened by his willingness to die so soon. He was going to live. He'd survived this battle. And he'd be sure to survive the next one. He would greatly miss those who had passed on before, but a reunion with them would have to be postponed. The Alliance needed him.  
  
"Thought we were gonna lose you there, kid," Han chimed in over the comm.  
  
"Commander!" Hobbie shouted. "You all right?"  
  
"Talk to us, Luke," urged Rocky.  
  
"I'm fine," he replied. "Really."  
  
"Luke," Vader said quietly, "I'm deeply sorry about Bekme."  
  
"Don't be," Luke replied. "But I will miss her."  
  
"You'll miss a traitor?" Leia said in disbelief.  
  
"I won't miss Admiral Olie, Leia," he corrected. "But I'll miss Bekme very much."  
  
There was a pause. "I'm not sure if I understand, Luke," Leia said at last, "but I'll trust you for now. You're usually right about these things."  
  
As Rogue Squadron, the Millennium Falcon, and the Desert Angel escorted the Commander's ship into hyperspace, Luke felt reassured by the friendship all around him. How wonderful that he hadn't given in to the temptation to end his life. For he had a family in the Alliance, a family that loved him and that he loved back, even if they hadn't any biological ties.  
  
"Good job, Rogues," he said at last. "Mission accomplished." 


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
Kain took advantage of the time in hyperspace to meditate on the failed Second Battle of Yavin. The error, he decided, had been in allowing Olie to take charge of the TIE squadron. Her sloppiness had botched everything. First, she hadn't adequately concealed her identity as an Imperial agent from the Alliance, allowing two Rebels to discover her identity. Second, instead of quietly doing away with the two men and making it look like an accident, she had attempted to frame Vader, creating a heightened panic among the Rebels that led to the eventual discovery of a spy by High Command. Last but most disastrously, she had developed a teenage crush on Skywalker and focused her energy and resources on capturing him instead of on destroying the base, her original objective. She had bungled the job and deserved her fate.  
  
He was still quite unused to the sudden intrusion in his skull that meant a telepathic message, but he knew what to do when he felt it. He opened his mind to his master.  
  
/You acted commendably considering the circumstances, Kain. The Alliance may not be destroyed, but it is in disarray and will not be mobilized to attack for some time to come./  
  
/I only regret that we failed to destroy Skywalker, my master/ he sent back.  
  
/I see./ A moment of contemplative silence. /Perhaps Admiral Olie had the right idea there./  
  
/Master?/  
  
/Skywalker and Vader are extremely powerful, Kain. They can be dangerous enemies – or great allies. If we can turn them…/  
  
Kain curled his lip. The idea of sharing the Sith cause with two more Force-strongs rankled him. Hadn't he been chosen to follow in Sidious' footsteps? Why was his master suddenly so eager to convert the two Skywalkers as well?  
  
/Return to Corusant, my apprentice. We must make further plans./  
  
Mothma's white dress rippled around her as she walked swiftly but easily through the rusty corridors of a long-grounded, pre-Republic warship on Nar Shaddaa that was the Alliance's temporary home. It wasn't much, but it would do until Rogue Squadron could locate a more suitable base of operations.  
  
Stars, the squadron and its pilots had truly come of age over these past few months. What was once a ragtag collection of adolescents chafing under their overly strict leader's rule was now an efficient fighting and scouting force. Oh, not that they'd lost any of their fun-loving attitude – Ghede would spin in his grave to see them going for joy rides in the newly acquired A-wings and gorging on junk food during their all-night holovid marathons. But they had had their loyalty and skills tested to their limits, and they had not only survived, they had cemented the bonds among themselves and to the Alliance.  
  
She opened the door to the small room where the Rogues had gathered, waiting in the doorway respectfully. Candles lit the memorial room with a flickering golden glow. The squadron stood in reverent silence, their gaze fixed on a table where two flight helmets lay. One, Squib's, was badly charred. The other, Bekme's, was mangled almost beyond recognition.  
  
Mothma understood what few others in the Alliance did – Squib was not the only Rogue to fall that terrible day. Admiral Olie had been a traitor to the Rebellion, but Bekme had been a friend and comrade. And the squadron chose to remember and honor the memory of the latter.  
  
Vader stood solemnly between Luke and Rocky, his glossy black visor and stained mechanic's uniform out of place among the orange jumpsuits and gray flight helmets. The man had not only proven to be a fine ally; he had exhibited tremendous loyalty to his friends and the Alliance even when considered a murderer and traitor. The accusations could easily have driven him back to the Empire and his past, but he had chosen to remain true to their cause.  
  
Which reminded her of her task…  
  
The Rogues turned almost as one when she gently cleared her throat.  
  
"I apologize for intruding," she said. "But I must speak to Commander Skywalker."  
  
"I'm right here," he volunteered, stepping forward.  
  
Mothma smiled sadly. Luke's face was still smooth and youthful, his sandy hair unruly as ever, but in his bright blue eyes a sadness beyond his years lingered. Of all the Rogues, he had taken this ordeal the hardest.  
  
"Skywalker, your men acted courageously at the Second Battle of Yavin. Thanks to your heroism, the Alliance has survived to continue the war against the Empire. High Command feels that such bravery should be rewarded."  
  
"We were only doing our duty, my lady," Dekham said modestly.  
  
"I insist," she replied. "Report to the audience hall in two standard hours, please." Her gaze rested on Vader. "Now for the second matter."  
  
Luke's eyes followed Mothma's, and he smiled.  
  
"Skywalker, you had once said that you would leave the Alliance if Vader joined Rogue Squadron," said Mothma. "I sincerely hope you have reconsidered your brash statement since then, because it would be a shame to lose either of you. You both have the makings of superior pilots in you."  
  
"I've changed my mind," Luke said eagerly. "He can join. We'd love him to be one of us. In fact," he added with an even wider smile, "I need a new second."  
  
"You told me, Vader, that you did not want a role on the Rebellion's front lines," Mothma noted. "But would you reconsider?"  
  
"I would be honored to serve the Rebel Alliance as Second Commander of Rogue Squadron," Vader replied, nodding respectfully but unable to contain all his enthusiasm.  
  
The squadron broke into cheering as Luke and Vader clasped hands. Mothma smiled, very pleased with the decision.  
  
The ancient ship's cargo hold was the only chamber big enough to serve as an audience hall, so it was here that thousands of Rebel soldiers, technicians, officers, and others congregated to witness the ceremony. It was standing room only, and the air was heavy with the wet-iron smell of rust, but no one complained or gave any indication of noticing. The excitement permeating the atmosphere overrode any discomfort.  
  
At the far end of the room waited Mon Mothma and Princess Leia, each dressed in flowing white, with the rest of High Command standing just behind them. Leia was wearing a smile for the first time in months, everyone noticed. Mothma, too, wore a rare public smile, and Ackbar beamed as much as his Mon Cal features would allow.  
  
The doors at the other end of the hallway ground open to admit a dozen men and women, each in orange jumpsuits and all but one carrying a gray helmet under his or her arm. Upon seeing Rogue Squadron grins and exultant expressions broke out on every face, though they respectfully held their applause.  
  
Vader, striding alongside Luke as they approached the dais on which High Command stood, couldn't believe his eyes. A few months ago he had been ferociously hated by the Alliance. Now, however, they saw him as a friend – even a hero!  
  
A bit nervously, he glanced at Luke – what for, he wasn't sure. The boy flashed him an encouraging smile as they walked. That action alone dispelled his anxiety. Skywalker was now one of his most trusted allies. How ironic that the son of one of his victims was now his closest friend.  
  
Han, Chewie, and Forenze were grouped together near the High Command, accompanied by Threepio and Artoo. Upon seeing Vader and Luke Han grinned, Chewie bellowed in pride, and Forenze winked as if divulging a secret. How he wished he were free of his mask, that he might smile back! He settled for a grateful nod in their direction.  
  
At last they reached Mothma, and as one the Rogues saluted. She gave a satisfied nod and turned to General Dodonna, who presented her with a medal of valor for each pilot.  
  
Vader had to stoop low for her to drape the medal over his domed helmet and around his neck. When he straightened he caught a glimpse of Leia's face. She no longer looked at him as if he were a beast or a criminal; acceptance, even admiration, shone in her eyes instead.  
  
The pilots turned to face the assembly, and thundering roars filled the chamber as the Alliance greeted the heroes of Rogue Squadron with enthusiastic acclaim.  
  
Vader felt as if his heart would burst free of his ribs. He was a Rebel! No longer haunted by the darkness of his past, he had shed the robes of his former life and been born again, given a chance to redeem himself of his crimes. And though he still had questions regarding his past, said questions no longer dominated his thoughts.  
  
Luke slapped his back good-naturedly, and his grin broadened until it threatened to tear his facial muscles.  
  
He was home.  
  
Credits  
  
I had a lot of fun making up names on this one, especially for Rogue Squadron. Luke, Zev, Hobbie, Janson, and Gavin come from the movies and books, of course, but the rest of the pilots are my own creation.  
  
Ghede Ironmoon's name is one I've wanted to use for a long time. Ironmoon was the surname of a female character (and a blatant Mary Sue) from my first fanfic story "Fall to Madness." Ghede, believe it or not, is the name of the Voodoo god of death.  
  
Bekme and Dekham are both derived from the title of the movie "Bend It Like Bekham." Mela is named after my hair stylist – they look nothing alike, trust me. And yes, Squib comes from "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," from the word describing a magic-less person born into a wizard family. No idea where Ar'ya and Rocky came from.  
  
Despite what other readers have asked me, Forenze is NOT named after the centaur Firenze in the first and fifth Harry Potter novels. Her name is actually derived from the word "forensic," which I thought was appropriate for a medical officer. Likewise, Kain is NOT named after the professional wrestler, who I always found a little creepy. He is named after Cain, Adam and Eve's firstborn son in the Bible (I changed the spelling to make it seem a little more exotic.)  
  
That said, keep your eyes open for Part Two of the "Reborn" trilogy – "Experience." 


End file.
